Mitama's Ladder
by AnalogToothBrush
Summary: "Not alive. Not dead. Dreaming? She couldn't figure out which was the truth." {Semi SI!OC-insert} {CANCELLED/BEING REWRITTEN}
1. STEP I

**Disclaimer:** _Naruto_ © Masashi Kishimoto.

* * *

 **Possible Trigger Warning:** Mild mention/depiction of attempted suicide.

* * *

 **I.**

… _Thump..._

… … _b-b-buzz… …_

It echoed. Loud, steady and monotonous. _Beating_.

… _Thump…_

 _... …b-b-buzz… …_

Pumping life energy into each and every artery, vein and capillary.

 _...Thump…_

… … _b-buzz… …_

It thrummed. Soft, sporadic and weak. _Riveting_.

… _Thump…_

… … _b-buzz… …_

Coiling around every organ and limb, leaving wisps of warmth that faded into nothingness seconds after.

… _Thump…_

… … _b-buzz… …_

Her eyes opened sedately, taking in sharp light, shapes, colors and objects. Tiny, stubby, achy limbs flexed and stretched, brushing against coarse, knitted material. Her nose and ears twitched minutely, picking up indistinct noises and the calming, tranquil scent of lavender. Her tongue was heavy, tasting faintly of citrus.

… _Thump…_

Her eyes closed slowly.

… … _b-b-buzz… …_

Together, the two life energies intertwined, animating the tiny, insignificant, _abomination_ of a being that laid swathed in her mother's embrace.

* * *

Her first memory had been one of consciousness.

* * *

"Frail, lil' ol' thing. Prob'ly won't make it past the winter." The old, gnarled woman sneered at the tiny girl clutched in a young boy's embrace.

"Ma, please!" A voice gasped out, scandalized.

"Look at 'er. Won't even make a peep, not even when she needs changin'." She spat out a mouthful of chewing tobacco, dried lips twisting as she threaded another needle. "Jus' be glad ya got a strong, healthy son."

"Grandma, just… Just leave 'er alone. Please." The boy whispered softly, hugging the Girl closer to his tiny chest.

* * *

For an indeterminate amount of time, she dreamed of dying.

(— _black starless sky illuminated by otherworldly hell fire vicious and flesh melting unfathomable pain there were no words comparable in the human language that could describe it her body was torn in two bisected like a flailing fish chopped by a butcher's knife held together only by the heavy smothering smoldering metal pinning her in place BLOOD on her hands and pooling in her mouth she could taste it screams screaming yelling wailing her voice his voice their voices together anguish agony_ —)

It played behind her eyelids like a broken record, refusing to abate no matter the amount of time that had passed for the Girl. The days, weeks, months and years seemed to blend together, making it difficult for her to separate the conscious from the unconscious, the peaceful from the grotesque—the dreams from the reality.

Day by day, she lived.

Night after night, she died.

* * *

Not alive. Not dead. Dreaming? She couldn't figure out which was the truth.

* * *

Her mother cried loudly, hysterically as she squeezed her weak body in an iron hold. Her grandmother glared from the doorway, beady eyes sharp with anguish and fury.

The Girl patted her mother's back absently, wet, bloodshot eyes staring at the covered tarp that held her brother's cold, lifeless body.

He died at age six to disease.

* * *

The sickness struck fast. Combined with years of tobacco decay and no available medical help, her grandmother's clock stopped ticking as they watched, powerless.

The Girl closed the door of her parents' room silently, muffling the cries, pleas and screams of her broken mother. She shuddered violently, hugging herself as wisps of ice cold hands brushed against the skin of her arms.

 _Please spare me._ She prayed, biting her lip until it bled. _Don't take me at this age._

It had only been a few months since the passing of her brother.

* * *

"You're _it!_ "

She turned away from them, eyes closing as she mentally counted to fifty. The small congregation of children scattered like cockroaches discovered by light, hiding in any nook or cranny they could possibly find. Their laughter and jeering gradually faded as time passed and, before long, the Girl had finished and had announced her declaration to find each child.

The game did not last long. One child hid among the branches of a tree next to her house and another tucked away into a small dirt alcove. One hid in the crawl space beneath a neighbor's hut, another hid in an empty barrel in front of the village leader's house. The last used a short stick of bamboo to aid in hiding in the river that served as a border for Sakuragaoka.

"You _cheated!_ "

She huddled away from the outraged children, eyes trained on the clear, gleaming water of the village's river. "B-but I—"

"Why is it you always know where we're hidin'!?"

"Yeah! We can't _never_ get 'way from you!"

The Girl doubted she'd be able to explain that she always knew where _everyone_ was—it had always been that way for her, no matter how she tried to stop it. Their warmth, the _heat_ they so constantly emanated… She could sense it no matter the distance and, like a moth to a flame, she was inexplicably drawn to it.

Beneath their scrutinizing glares, she wilted and, after another moment, she merely turned tail and ran.

* * *

After that, the children stopped asking her to play with them.

* * *

The Girl was not unlike the many peasant children that resided in the Land of Fire.

Her parents were hard workers—farmers that tilled the fertile soil of Fire Country from sunrise to sunset. Food was not scarce but, far too many times, the Girl could recall the sharp, uncomfortable aches and pains that heralded the need for sustenance. The Girl had no pretty, fancy kimono or yukata, merely the clothes stitched together by her deceased grandmother and the secondhand garbs from her brother that had succumbed to fever winters past. The Girl had minimal time for playing—her hours were spent assisting her parents in the fields or attempting to make their laborious life a bit easier by completing the mundane chores of washing clothes or cleaning their small, humble, shabby home. Her parents themselves were decent folk, not particularly affectionate but attentive enough to give her proper care.

No, the Girl was not unlike the many peasant children that resided in the Land of Fire.

Yet, there was something about her that was distinctly _different._

* * *

"You been doin' well?"

"Yeah."

"Hiroshi been doin' well?"

"Yeah."

"I don' know if I coulda been as strong as you—losin' ya boy _and_ ma in one swoop...! I just don' know what I woulda done..." A pause, followed by a soft whisper, "Ya girl been doin' well? Lil' thing looks like dead walkin'."

She felt her mother's gaze roam over her bowed head, saw her hands hesitating minutely in their folding from her peripheral. "…Yeah."

Without further preamble, the two women descended into a light, aimless conversation about turnips and bells. The Girl remained silent, tiny hands slowly scrubbing mud-stained clothing against a dingy washboard. Through slightly murky water, she caught a glimpse of her own reflection.

Her pallid skin was an oddity, considering the time she spent outside in the sun and Fire Country's temperate climate. Short, inky hair framed her round cheeks, choppy, uneven ends barely brushing against her shoulders. Sable eyes that were much too large for her face peered blankly from the watery surface, the dark bruises under them telling of her numerous victories over slumber.

It wasn't hard to see why one would think she was breaching the threshold of death.

The Girl dunked another article of clothing as she shuffled closer to her mother's side, absently relishing in the warmth she provided.

* * *

She smacked into a solid form with an inaudible groan, body flopping onto the ground painfully. The collision was a disorienting one—the human-shaped form danced before her vision as if performing a ceremonial kagura.

"Sorry, little one." A deep, rumbling voice said apologetically.

She murmured something illegible as she struggled to pick herself up from the ground. A soft, surprised squeak left her lips as large hands slid under her skinny arms and easily pulled her up, setting her on two feet with surprising gentleness that belied the strength evident in them. Her vision cleared just as her feet touched the ground and, towering above her, was a person she'd never seen in Sakuragaoka—but she _knew_ that she had met him once before, oddly enough.

"You live here, little one?" He chuckled at her awkward nod, onyx eyes sparkling with amusement. "Could you point me towards the village leader's home then?"

Her arm extended, pointing in a direction west of their position. Again, he chuckled at what she assumed was her gauche actions before he placed a hand on her head, mussing up her already messy hair. Her small hands instinctively shot out, clinging to one of his larger ones before it moved out of her short reach. The action elicited another hearty chuckle that made heat travel from the palms of her clammy hands to the tips of her chilled toes.

"First time meeting a shinobi, huh, little one?" He squatted down to her level, making her feel like an insect in comparison despite his attempt to lessen the height difference.

She nodded absently, eyes focused on the bit of metal tied around the man's forehead. Tentatively, she reached towards it, something about it giving her a strange sense of familiarity—just like the man who wore the headband.

However, before she could touch it, the shinobi's hand caught hers. "Now, now, little one. It's impolite to put your hands in another's face without permission."

There was a subtle hint of warning in his voice and a sharp, rebuking glint in his eyes that made her body seize in embarrassment. Her head nodded rapidly, jerkily as her body fought between cowering away and moving closer to the shinobi—it settled for remaining rooted in the same spot.

"Do you want to know what it is?" He asked after a tense moment of silence. He continued at her slow nod, "It's my forehead protector—proof of my status as a shinobi and my loyalty to Konohagakure no Sato." He brushed away a few strands of hair, revealing the hidden emblem. "If you encounter a shinobi with this mark on their headband, you can rest easy. They— _we—_ will protect you, little one. It's our job."

The Girl nodded wordlessly, watching the retreating back of the shinobi and quietly committing his words to memory.

* * *

The shinobi stayed in Sakuragaoka for three days and three nights.

The Girl encountered him only once more, on his last morning in the farming village. Like an obedient puppy waiting for its master, she lingered around the bridge that spanned over the river border and, when the grey-haired shinobi approached, she held out her arms, presenting him with a delicately wrapped farewell gift.

"Hm?" He blinked, taking the small package. "What's this, little one?"

"Onigiri…" She mumbled quietly, inching closer to the man. "Four of 'em. One wit' katsuboshi; one wit' umeboshi; a-another, salmon; and tha last wit' konbu."

His expression remained indiscernible as he eyed the package. At that moment, it occurred to the Girl that the man was most likely wary of her gift—she may have been a small child but it wasn't unreasonable to assume that she could be an enemy assassin.

"U-um!" Without a second thought, she snatched the gift away and took a large bite of the umeboshi-filled onigiri, swallowing loudly before stating, "…No poison…"

"Ah." A flash of alarm flitted over his features before it was hidden by a benign, somewhat strained smile. "Thank you, little one. I'll make sure to enjoy them."

He accepted her gift once again, wrapping it back and storing it into one of his packs. The silver-haired shinobi's face softened as he gave her one final pat on the head, followed by a playful, exaggerated bow. "I thank both you and your village for your kindness and cooperation."

With colored cheeks, the Girl bowed politely while fighting the urge to wrap herself around his leg like a heat-seeking imp. "…Good bye, Shinobi-san."

* * *

( _"Rat. Ox. Tiger. Hare. Dragon. Snake. Horse. Ram. Monkey. Bird. Dog. Boar. The twelve basic hand seals, named after each of the twelve animals of the Chinese Zodiac. Learn them. Remember them. They are your foundation for the ninja arts."_ )

* * *

Following the shinobi's departure, a sense of tension and emergence pervaded the usually tranquil farming village named Sakuragaoka.

The adults gathered nightly, growing increasingly agitated and tight-lipped. The children responded in kind, causing mischief in order to garner the adults' attention. It formed a pitiable cycle—the more trouble the children caused, the more the adults closed themselves off and the more the children did for attention.

The Girl remained reserved, keeping herself sane by practicing each of the twelve hand seals every night while listening to the cicadas sing.

* * *

She had had a _bad_ feeling on that day, deep in the throes of summer.

The day had progressed as it always had—in a rather monotonous manner that made her want to pull out plugs of her own hair for the mere change in routine it would bring. In the morn, she greeted the neighbors with a short, polite bow before going on her way to pull up weeds and water the crops. When afternoon came, she enjoyed a brief break for a lunch of rice and steamed vegetables before splitting from her parents to gather dirty clothes for washing. After another meal of rice and vegetables, evening had begun to encroach and the Girl wrapped up the day by folding clothes and helping her mother prepare a dinner of rice, boiled vegetables and grilled fish.

"Go on ta bed, girl." Her father muttered gruffly, exhaustion and irritation coloring his voice. "And stop huddlin' so damn close ta me—I can't _stand_ tha heat this time o' year."

Her hands clutched together, nails digging into the knuckles—an attempt to keep herself from both sobbing and passing out. Her stomach knotted together with paralyzing anxiety and deep, clenching, painful _guilt_ gnawed at her rapidly beating heart.

"…P-Pa…?" Her tongue darted out to lick dry lips. "…Can…we leave…Sakuragaoka?"

"Nope. We ain't got no money ta go nowhere." He replied simply but there was a sharp, terse edge in his voice that left no room for any further pleading. "Don't ask no stupid questions like that again. Got it?"

The Girl turned to her mother for assistance, only to find the woman watching her with a guarded expression. "…Go on ta bed now."

She nodded jerkily, tears pooling as she quickly shuffled away from her parents' presences to tuck herself beneath rough, quilted blankets, leaving them to an evening of timed peace and quiet.

* * *

"…Chakra is tha…combination of spiritual…and p-physical energies…"

She stared up the high ceiling of her small home, eyes tracing over the old, worn wood supports holding up an equally shabby straw-thatched roofing. Slowly, her gaze traveled to the windows that provided her darkened room with warm, evening air and soft moonlight. She noted idly that the walls were relatively bare, save for a few pictures pinned up, each of various images drawn in sloppy, childish scrawl—not her scrawl but her brother's, as a gift to his little sister.

Her eyes closed sluggishly, ignoring the tears of shame because she felt no love for the boy that had passed away years ago.

"H-hand seals…are used ta manipulate…tha amount of chakra used for…tha ninja arts s-save taijutsu. There are twelve basic…hand seals…each named after tha twelve animals of…tha Chinese Zodiac…"

Her hands formed the seals with clumsy, unhurried movements. Each held a certain difficulty to it but the Girl formed each without fail, refusing to move onto another until she had correctly completed a current one.

It was dull. It was mechanical. It was mind-numbing. It kept her occupied. It kept her from falling asleep. It staved off the dreams. It kept her grounded in what could be considered reality.

"Monkey."

She breathed in.

"Bird…"

She breathed out.

"…Dog."

Her eyes opened.

"Boar."

She felt them before she saw them, before they had even stepped foot in Sakuragaoka—it was one of the reasons she had managed to escape the chaos unscathed, along with the premonition of danger that followed her throughout that day.

Ignoring the inherent, almost uncontrollable urge to move towards the rapidly approaching plumes of warmth, the Girl swiftly pushed the thick, smothering blankets from her body, slid on a pair of trousers and gathered a few necessary items ideal for travel that she'd covertly hoarded. Packing the items in a worn furoshiki and tying the ends with tight double knots, the Girl made to leave the house, lingering only for the briefest of seconds to utter an inaudible apology and prayer for her slumbering parents and deceased grandmother and sibling. With deft, uncanny stealth and agility, she weaved through the various houses and plots, barely making it to the village's outer limits before her small, weak body demanded rest.

The first shockwave sent her to the ground in surprise. The screams came mere seconds afterwards.

Blades of sharpened wind sliced through crops and houses alike, as if they were nothing more than hot butter. Explosions sounded loud and clear through the once still night, creating a cacophony of noises, smells and sights that had her brain reeling and body trembling from the intensity of it all.

 _Wind ninjutsu? Could it be...enemy shinobi!?_ She realized almost deliriously, picking herself up from the ground and cautiously dragging her tired body further from the carnage. _A surprise raid on a farming village, attempting to dent food supplies—or create a supply line through enemy territory! T-This isn't good…!_

Knowing that she could've, _should've_ done something more to change the fate of her parents— _of Sakuragaoka as a whole_ —the Girl could only turn her back as she did her best to forget the memories of demolished homes, screaming innocents and burning corpses that worked to bury themselves permanently behind her lids—along with the rest of the demonic images that occupied her mindscape.

" _P-please forgive—please forgive me…for r-running away…_ " She wiped away the tears and snot with the back of her quivering hand. " _Please f-f-forgive me…for being…weak…_ "

* * *

Her first night as an orphan was spent in the hollow base of a large tree several miles from what was once the farming village of Sakuragaoka, silently, tearfully running through the twelve hand seals as she uttered a prayer for each and every life that had been lost.

* * *

Her goal was a simple one: survive alone in Fire Country long enough to locate the distant sources of heat—which she identified as human, simply because of the sheer number in a single, concentrated area.

There were no companions for her in the wilderness of Fire Country—not any of the human sort, at least.

Trees were plentiful and of various sizes—some were towering, solid things with thick, sturdy vines and leaves the size of her torso while others were small, thin twigs that may as well have been nonexistent in comparison. The Girl preferred the middling trees, the ones that were a perfect combination of each extreme that allowed her an ideal place to rest and observe her surroundings. She kept to the trees often, to remain out of sight though she doubted she could do much if she were spotted by a wild, hostile animal or a large, hostile human.

And, she would admit, the trees made good listeners. They kept her secrets, her dreams and promised never to tell another soul of the horrors she endured when her eyes closed.

Food wasn't difficult to obtain after her supply of onigiri ran out on her fifth day in the wilderness. Water sources were plenty, housing numerous freshwater fish for her to eat and she knew of edible berries that grew in the general area that her grandmother was fond of. Hunting wasn't an unfamiliar concept for the Girl; she was grateful for her father's disregard of her weak body, unsuitable for strenuous physical activities—he had spent an entire summer teaching her the various ways to catch and prepare fish and small wild game.

Hand line fishing had been the most convenient for the Girl; it simply required a hook, a reel of wire and patience.

"Lunch an' dinner... Thank you, Pa." The beginnings of a small smile teased the corners of her lips as she pulled in her fourth fish. "…Now to clean 'em!"

In theory, survival alone in the wild of Fire Country for a child as young and small as her was slim but, in practice, the odds didn't seem so lopsided to the Girl.

* * *

She fell asleep content, surprisingly warm with a full belly but she awoke when she nearly drowned on a mouthful of her own thick, coppery blood.

* * *

"…P-p-please, go a-a-away!"

On her eighth day in the wild, the Girl found herself in a predicament.

Her blunted fingernails anchored into tree bark as harsh, devastating quakes ripped through the base of her temporary perch. She bit her lip in a futile attempt to keep from wailing, drawing blood as her teeth involuntarily ripped through soft flesh. Tentatively, she tilted her head, glancing down at the goliath that threatened her person. The Girl huddled in on herself when the beast released a furious bellow at the simple glimpse of her.

Wild boars. They were not a common sight but were notoriously dangerous when encountered. She had heard stories of them, idle prattle from farmers seeking to while away the time when working in the hot fields. Only the most skilled of mercenaries and shinobi were able to take them unscathed—or so the rumors and tales went.

The Girl was not either of those things. She doubted she ever would be.

 _Is this—is this my punishment for abandoning my family? For abandoning Sakuragaoka?_ Her eyes clenched closed, lips trembling as bitter, blood-stained tears invaded her mouth. _Am I m-meant to suffer like t-this…?_

It was inevitable, her death on that crisp, summer morning.

The boar would be the catalyst but there were several different ways death could be wrought upon her weary body. Mauled by the raging boar; crushed beneath the felled tree she rested upon; plummeting to her death, breaking every glass like bone within her body on the way down—hers was a rather bleak end, especially for one as young as she. Another tremor vibrated her once safe haven and, vaguely, the Girl noticed a hot, uncomfortable stream of liquid going down her leg.

 **…** _ **Or it could be on your own terms.**_ An insidious voice whispered into her ear, prompting her once petrified body into uncontrollable action.

Her quivering hands slowly reached into the depths of her furoshiki, almost as if possessed. She stopped when her fingers brushed against cool metal; a deep, remorseful whimper escaped her lips when she pulled out the iron kunai she'd stashed for preparing meat. Looking at the tool filled her with such a sickening sense of finality that she had to swallow down hot bile that burned her throat the more she thought of it.

 **There is no need to be afraid.** She could see it from the corner of her eye, looming over her shoulder with long clawed hands layered over her own. _**Come back to where you belong.**_

Tiny hands held the kunai with an eerily steady translucent grip as numbness flooded the entirety of her being. Her breath came out in harsh, gravely huffs as the cold metal bit into the flesh of her stomach.

 _ **There is no turning back now.**_

With a sharp cry, the Girl lifted the knife into the air and brought it down—

Her eyes snapped open at the spontaneous appearance of _scorching_ heat. Her fingers flexed absently above her head as her brain registered that her kunai was no longer in her grip. A glint of metal caught her eye before her attention was drawn to a rapidly descending amalgamation of white light and heat. Before her eyes, the behemoth wild boar let out a guttural croak as it toppled over, making the girl's form bounce with the impact of it.

"What are you _doing_ out here?" A familiar voice called from a branch above her.

The Girl let out a scream but muffled it with her freezing hands. The source of heat—the _human_ —had disappeared, only to reappear directly above her. Her head tilted back with such speed that, for a moment, she thought she'd given herself a new form of whiplash.

"S-S-Shinobi-san!?" She squeaked, tears invading her vision at the sight of the man. "W-Wha—"

Her words died off as she watched the familiar shinobi pull her lost kunai free from the tree where it had been pinned by one of his own weapons. The dark look that passed over his face made her want to curl up into a ball and disappear from existence. Unable to do that, the Girl pulled her legs to her chest, pressing herself against the unyielding tree and away from the simmering shinobi.

"What did you think you were going to do with this?" He demanded, dropping down to her location with unnatural grace and balance.

The Girl hoped that the question was rhetorical but the tension that hung between them was thick, waiting to be sliced by her words. Licking her dry lips and averting her gaze down to the dead beast and four other shinobi, she stuttered out, "I-I was—I was g-g-g-going to—I—"

"You were going to stab yourself." He interrupted, eyes narrowing as he clenched the knife in his hand. "You were going to _kill_ yourself."

"I-I was—"

"Under no circumstances should a child have thought about doing such a thing!" He berated her, fist slamming down on their branch and making the girl curl in on herself more as she heard a suspicious cracking. "Do you even _know_ the consequences of what you sought to do!?"

She swallowed several times, trying futilely to rid herself of the lump in her throat. The Girl wanted to scream and spit at the man staring at her with such a piercing, soul-rending gaze. How dare her reprimand her. How dare he glower at her with such disappointment. Had he done his job properly, had he protected her and her village—like he claimed shinobi were _supposed_ to do—she wouldn't have had the need for such drastic measures. He had the nerve, the complete and utter _gall_ to question her ability to comprehend her actions—had she lingered in Sakuragaoka, she would've perished; had she simply waited for the wild boar to knock down her tree, she would've suffered. Did he think her without common sense?

"W-w-where _were_ you?" She choked out, clutching the fabric of her tattered top. "I was—I was _so scared!_ 'm not strong like _you_! I _needed_ you and you w-weren't _there_ for me! _So what was I supposed to do!?_ "

She cried. She shrieked. She sobbed like the small, weak, insignificant child that she was. Somewhere between nearly choking on her tears and wiping snot all over her shirt, she felt a gentle, comforting pressure fall on her head and a hard, sturdy grip wrap around her thin shoulders. The Girl allowed herself to be smothered in the shinobi's overwhelming warmth and she clung to him as if he were a rope keeping her from descending into the darkness of death.

"Don't cry, little one." He whispered softly. "You did well."

She had done nothing that was worth praise. " _…Everybody's g-g-gone…_ "

"…Forgive me…for coming too late, little one." He replied just as softly, remorse evident in his baritone. "But never let a shinigami tempt you again."

The Girl didn't question his words, instead muttering a soft, sincere prayer of gratitude for divine intervention.

* * *

 **A/N: This was supposed to be my project for NaNoWriMo 2015, however, I am a procrastinator deeply in need of aid. Please excuse if things are vague—they will (most) likely be explained as the story goes on. I doubt I've been very clever but, if one catches the references, one can probably guess the "twist" of the story rather quickly. In regards to the unnamed shinobi (though we all know who it is), when he said** _ **"But never let a shinigami tempt you again**_ **," look at the Wikipedia article for** _ **Shinigami**_ **—it should explain his words without difficulties.**

 **Please leave constructive criticism, questions and reviews—I can only get better through feedback.**


	2. STEP II

**Disclaimer:** _Naruto_ © Masashi Kishimoto.

* * *

 **II.**

They questioned her.

Procedure, her silver-haired savior—Sakumo, they called him—had said before disappearing in a swirl of leaves along with two of his companions. It was understandable—she had been the sole survivor of an attack possibly made by enemy shinobi and her word as the only witness held a certain amount of weight. Mitama answered their questions solemnly, providing them with the few bits and pieces spared from her traumatic and strenuous ordeal.

"How long have you been away from the village since the attack?"

"Mn, 'bout eight days. Maybe?"

"How did you escape?"

She fiddled with her shirt as she tried to form an answer. "…I felt 'em coming an' I ran away."

A pale eyebrow lifted. "You _felt_ them coming? Explain."

She hadn't even tried explaining it to the children of Sakuragaoka and, the one time she had tried expressing herself to her parents, they had merely taken her words for simple, childish babble.

Mitama bit her lip fretfully, eyes averting to her sandals. "I-It's kinda hard ta explain but… They felt like, uh, lit _candles_ , maybe? Big an' bright. An' somebody was movin' 'em closer a-an' I could _feel_ 'em bein' moved?" Her wan cheeks colored. "…Does that make sense?"

The blonde's lips twitched minutely. "I get the basic meaning of it. Can you remember any prominent details of the assailants?"

"W-well… I didn' see no one. B-but maybe they were Suna-nin? T-they used this wind ninjutsu a-an' cut through everythin' like it was nothin' but water. Plus, Sakuragaoka was pretty close to Wind Country—jus' cross o'er River Country an' you're there." Her voice faltered slightly before she continued, "M-maybe they were tryin' ta cut supply production? A lot o' our plants ended up bein' shipped off ta Chōtatsu-shi ta be made inta provisions an' stuff like that." She dropped her gaze as she continued to ramble, "Or maybe they wanted our crops for themselves? I-I mean, Wind Country don' have that much fertile soil—if _any—_ an' they mainly have to deal in imports an' exports from other minor countries. Sakuragaoka was pretty big for a farmin' place an' we had _a lot_ o' different crops. _Oh!_ Maybe it was both—"

The blonde woman tilted her head back, pinching her temples as she held up a hand. "You can stop now. Your butchered dialect is giving me a migraine. I request that you give your answers in as few words possible." She let out a sigh. "While your attempts at figuring out possible motives is…admirable, I suggest you leave such endeavors to us _—_ or, at least, to Genbu here _._ "

The dark-haired man in question inclined his head but offered nothing more to the conversation.

Dejected and offended by the woman's lack of manners, Mitama pulled her knees up to her chest and tersely answered the rest of the questions directed towards her.

* * *

Their orders had been to wait for their squad's return. If they were not back by sunset, the two were to escort her to the nearest town, Echigoya-machi. If they were not back by morning, they were to take her to Konohagakure no Sato.

One hour had passed. Then, two. Three. Four. Five.

Mitama had mistakenly dozed off in waiting for her savior, only to wake up gagging and short of breath. The two shinobi barely spared her a glance as they whispered amongst themselves before the blonde kunoichi dryly declared their departure. The man easily crouched before her, wordlessly offering to be her human steed for the duration of the journey.

On the back of the dark-haired shinobi, Genbu, passage to Echigoya-machi had been swift, taking a mere two and a half hours on foot.

Mitama could only feel a sense of envy and, oddly enough, _nostalgia_ towards the soldiers' speed and stamina as they entered the merchant town.

* * *

( _"So you aren't as resilient as most. Not everyone is meant to take a punch. Some people have glass jaws—you're one of them. That's fine. Everything's fine, okay?"_

"… _But, what if I have no choice? What if I_ have _to fight?"_

" _You don't want to be hit. What does a person who doesn't want to be hit do? They dodge. Your opponent can't hurt what they can't hit, right?"_ )

* * *

Her cheeks flushed in mortification as she examined her soiled clothing. She craned her neck up, beseechingly staring at the two adults guarding her.

Genbu's lips curled in lazy mirth. "Pissed your pants, did you?"

Shamefully, Mitama looked away, hands clutching together anxiously as she silently prayed for Sakumo-san's spontaneous appearance to comfort and protect her from his subordinates. The dark-haired man broke out into low, subdued chuckles and her once pallid skin took on a red, tomato-like hue as his laughter rang throughout her ears.

The kunoichi turned away, moving to leave the room they occupied. "I'll get some suitable clothing for her. Keep her safe while I'm gone."

Mitama was left alone with Genbu in the modest hotel room.

His muffled laughter continued, even after the kunoichi returned an hour later.

* * *

"Come." The blonde-haired woman—Ayako, she had called herself—held out a hand, beckoning her towards the tub. "You are filthy and simply acknowledging your existence makes me want to vomit."

Mitama remained still, fingers fiddling with the edges of her torn top as she stared down the kunoichi. The girl was aware of her rather unhygienic state but she wasn't an imbecile—nor was she fond of others being so _blatant_ with their dislike of her. She had assumed that common courtesy was the first step in garnering another's respect but the kunoichi named Ayako made it _so very difficult_ for her.

"…I can wash myself." She replied petulantly, taking a tentative step back and bracing herself against the door behind her. "I don't need any—"

" _Child._ " Ayako interrupted, turquoise eyes narrowed. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way—the choice is yours." Her lips twitched as she tucked a bit of hair behind an ear. "Now, I _am_ rather fond of the hard way but I am willing to be genial and give you the opportunity to make the right decision."

"I—"

"Genbu!" She called, rolling up her sleeves and pinning up her sweeping hair. "228.6 centimeters!"

" _Got it!_ "

There was a brief, pregnant pause before Mitama felt her whole body go rigid, as if possessed by an unknown entity. Sable eyes widened as she struggled against the unforeseen force and a low, keening whine fell from her lips as her body crouched, as if preparing for a lunge. When her body did just that, she screamed— _loudly—_ as her tiny body went sailing over the length of the bathroom and straight into the bathtub full of bubbles, the landing softened by the steaming water. Dominance returned but control of her body was immediately relinquished to the relentless Ayako, whose hands promptly ripped off all her clothing and proceeded to scrub _each_ and _every_ inch of her body with a sponge loofah.

The girl flinched violently in pain, shoulders hunching and eyes clenching shut. "That _hurts_! I—"

" _Quiet._ " The kunoichi leaned back, retrieving a bottle of lavender-scented shampoo. "I need every ounce of concentration to thoroughly clean your dirt-encrusted body."

Mitama could only wince as the blonde slathered her hair with shampoo, roughly scrubbed her uneven locks with sharp, scraping nails and dunked her head underneath the water, holding her there for a millisecond _too_ long.

* * *

"You are now a civilized person of society. There's no need for gratitude."

She bit her lip, glaring up at the woman through eyelashes.

"I said, there's no need for gratitude." The blonde-haired woman's lightly painted lips twitched at their corners and her sharp nails made deep groves in the polished oaken floor table.

Her heart sped as a harsh, oppressing aura weighted down on her. She stuttered as she quickly blurted, "T-thank ya, Ayako-san…!"

Ayako nodded curtly, a smirk on her face. "You are most welcome. Now, please cease speaking to me—your vernacular is like claws on a chalkboard."

* * *

"Not tired?"

Her eyes snapped opened and her hands froze as the dark-haired shinobi eased himself down across from her. "…I don' sleep too much."

"That's obvious. Understandable too, considering what you've been through this past week." He observed her tiny form as he leaned his elbows on his knees. "What's your name, kid?"

She stared at him suspiciously from beneath her eyelashes. "…Tama…"

"Tama?"

"…Tama's short for…Mitama."

"That's kind of a _weird_ name for a kid—or a person in general." He again eyed her pale form before shrugging dismissively. "But who am I to judge? My little cousin and I are named after some guardian spirits my grandmother worshipped. I don't know why the old hag couldn't give us _normal_ names."

Mitama narrowed her eyes, catching his subtle jab at her name. "…Ma let my grandma name me, too." Something resembling bitterness darkened her features. "She didn' think I'd survive very long."

"Ironic." Genbu muttered, lacing his fingers together. "Anyways, I'm going to get straight to the point, kid. In wake of the destruction of Sakuragaoka, you are to be a ward of Konohagakure no Sato. Do you know what that means?"

The girl nodded hesitantly, hands toying with the edges of her newly-evened hair. "Yeah."

"What does it mean?"

She stared at the man, lips pulled into a deep frown. "It means I'm under Konoha's legal protection 'til I'm o' age."

His lips twitched at its corners as he nodded shortly. "That's the basic gist of it. You'll be taken to the capital where you'll fill out some paperwork for your citizenship—you'll have _lots_ of fun with that, by the way—and, while it's processing, you'll be placed temporarily at one of Konoha's orphanages."

"Temporary?" She murmured inquisitively. "I won't be…?"

"Well, what I meant was… Hm." Genbu paused, eyes searching her face for something secret. "Konohagakure is a hidden village, meaning that alongside traditional academic schooling, official shinobi training is available for those interested. There's another living arrangement available for orphans that meet certain criteria who wish to pursue a military-based career."

"Military?" She parroted softly, biting her bottom lip as spotty, vague fragments clicked together in her mind. "Would I…get my own home?"

His face remained carefully blank as he propped his chin on the back of a hand. "Yes, you would. Nothing extravagant, of course—just a little place equipped with the bare essentials. However, in order to be qualified for your own apartment, you have to do a few things. Namely, you have to prove that you're capable of caring for yourself for an extended period of time; you have to pass an exam to be admitted into the Academy; and you have to maintain a high class ranking for the duration of your shinobi training."

"It doesn't sound…" Her head tilted incrementally, trailing off. "Well…"

"It doesn't sound too hard?" A low, sardonic chuckle rumbled in his chest. "You'd be surprised, kid. There's a _very_ low rate of children that actually qualify each year; I don't think there are any children that even qualified _this_ year."

"Why?"

"Because most children aren't capable of caring for themselves at the age of six—especially not those who haven't developed proper life skills." He shrugged his shoulders. "They may pass the initial exam to get into the Academy but, eventually, the burdens of taking care of themselves _and_ keeping a high class ranking make most kids buckle under the pressure."

"What's tha point of havin' it then?" She couldn't help but question. "If most can't, what's tha point of havin' it? Why not let 'em live at tha orphanage an' attend?"

The dark-haired man sighed, reclining back with crossed arms behind his head. "The Academy isn't free, kid. It has a tuition fee and the supplies necessary for proper shinobi training isn't exactly cheap. The orphanages already have to clothe, feed and house a relatively large number of children; they aren't able to put them through shinobi training as well."

"O-oh."

"That's where the Advancement Scholarship comes in. It's only available to children such as yourself and it pays for _everything_ —including living expenses and school supplies. All you have to do in return is what I explained earlier and, _again_ , it's not the easiest thing to accomplish for children without the advantage of maturity and a sense responsibility."

The girl frowned thoughtfully. Despite Genbu's demoralizing words, the feat still didn't sound as complicated or taxing as he was making it out to be. Mitama wasn't one to boast but she knew how to care for herself and she was certain she already had a decent grip on certain academics. The knowledge she had seemed almost inherent and it perplexed her at times, spontaneously _knowing_ certain things but, because of that same awareness, she knew that having such capabilities were an advantage for a helpless child such as she.

She mumbled faintly, incoherently with eyes cast down as she came to an obvious decision.

"Hey, kid. You know how to write?" The shinobi asked abruptly. "And can you read?"

Her eyebrows furrowed as she considered his question. Realistically, she shouldn't have known. Most in Sakuragaoka were illiterate—all save for the village head and his wife. Mitama hadn't learned to read or write from the man nor his wife; they hadn't been on close enough terms to even fathom such a thing.

But, Mitama _knew_ she was literate.

After a moment, she nodded. Wordlessly, the dark-haired man reached into a pouch at his waist and pulled out a blank scroll along with a slim brush. Applying a bit of chakra to the brush, the once white bristles darkened, dampened with ink. With an expectant look on his face, he handed the brush to the girl.

"Write your name." He ordered simply.

Her lips pursed as she took the brush in hand, contemplating where to write on the scroll and how large or small. With a slightly unsteady grip, the girl slowly wrote out the hiragana required for her name.

み

た

ま

She paused before jotting down the necessary katakana for her name.

ミ

タ

マ

Finally, she completed his request with the kanji form of her name.

御霊

Genbu hummed thoughtfully, taking both the scroll and brush in hand. Quickly, he jotted something down before holding the writing before her face. "Read this out loud."

Her eyes scanned over the text before she let out a short, appalled squeak. "T-That's n-not—!"

" _Read it._ " He pushed, grey eyes dancing with mirth.

" _Mitama is a brat that peed her pants._ " She read through gritted teeth, her tiny hands balling into fists. "Y-you—!"

He let out a carefree laugh, roughly jabbing the seething girl on the forehead with a finger. He snorted when her head jarred, knocking into the wall behind her. "Time to hit the sack, kid. Regardless of whether or not the squad returns, we're heading out before afternoon."

When the man turned his back, Mitama childishly stuck out her tongue at him.

She really hoped Sakumo-san would return, simply so she wouldn't be alone with his terrible underlings for much longer.

* * *

The dark-haired shinobi let out a deep, guttural yawn as he pulled at his spike of a ponytail. "You're up with the chickens, kid."

"Mn. A-an' tha n-nice chefs gave me stuff ta make onigiri…for breakfast. Here I made o-one for you. Please take it, Genbu-san." She held out the plate, a small, angelic smile on her pale face.

"Cute. I know you spit in that onigiri, kid. Try again on someone else—preferably not a shinobi."

The smile dropped. "… …I don' like you… …"

"Heh. Should I start calling you Ara-Mitama now?" He ruffled her hair roughly, filling the early morning with his rough chuckles.

* * *

Sakumo-san and companions still did not return in the morning.

Mitama couldn't stop the groan of vexation as she unwillingly climbed Genbu's back and listened to his seemingly unending jokes about her little "accident."

* * *

The journey to Konohagakure had been broken into a total of seven days.

The trip from Echigoya-machi to Tanzaku-gai had taken five days. The trio arrived in late evening and resided there until early afternoon—Ayako hadn't been fond of the various gambling facilities, the whore houses or the many men that thought it wise to proposition her. The decision was made spontaneously, just as she and Genbu exited a bookstore to see the blonde kunoichi holding a screaming man in a rather painful-looking joint lock.

"Ayako, you can let go now." Genbu said as he pushed through the clump of people that had gathered to watch the spectacle. "Besides, you're making a scene."

The woman glanced at her partner before finally noticing the various stares that were on her. The kunoichi clucked her tongue, jerking the man's arm before relenting. Mitama watched in amazement as Ayako's body sinuously untwined from the man's and, with a graceful, flamboyant handstand, she was back on her feet, dusting dirt from her clothing as she leveled the man with a disdainful scowl.

"If you wish to keep all your limbs, I suggest you never approach another woman with such blatant disrespect again." She flicked a bit of hair over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing at the crowd before she pivoted on her heel. "Come. Let us leave this cesspool of debauchery and hedonistic revelry. It disgusts me."

Genbu tilted his head away from the slowly dissipating crowd, letting out a low chuckle as he mussed up the small girl's hair. "C'mon, kid. I'd hate to stick around and see a comrade hanging about in this place. That's something a little too _personal_ for my tastes."

She let out a small squeak as the shinobi led her away but, for some reason, she had the urge to turn back towards the crowd. When her head turned, her eyes caught a glimpse of gleaming onyx and a shock of spiky, white hair.

"Stop dragging your feet, kid." Genbu complained, jerking her forth a bit. "Sakumo-taichou isn't back there."

Her eyebrows furrowed at his words. She didn't hallucinate—not in the traditional manner, she supposed—but she was sure that she had seen two physical characteristics of Sakumo-san: ebony eyes and light hair. Granted, Sakumo-san's hair bordered more on a shade of light grey but, if given the proper lighting, it could appear white.

But, she wasn't naïve. She knew the person she'd seen a mere glance of wasn't Sakumo-san. If it were, why hadn't he approached earlier and stopped Ayako's behavior? Mitama was quite sure the woman wouldn't have gone as far in the presence of her captain and she was sure Sakumo-san wouldn't have allowed the situation to progress to the level it had gone. As well, where were the other two members of their squad that had accompanied Sakumo-san? Mitama couldn't deny the possibility that _something_ could have happened to them but, regardless, things didn't add up.

Besides, she had noticed another feature of the mysterious man: a noticeable wart on his nose.

And, for some reason, Mitama felt that odd sense of familiarity.

* * *

They arrived at Konohagakure no Sato after two more days.

"Here were are." Genbu said, shifting his hold on her small form. "Home sweet home."

Mitama could only croak as she beheld Konoha's enormous gates, a myriad of feelings and fleeting memories surging deep from within her mind and soul. She shivered as they passed through them, weaving through the mass of people coming from and going towards their own destinations. Her teeth gritted and her vision blurred as she tightened her hold around Genbu's sturdy neck, to the point where the man had grunted and pinched her thigh in response.

She barely twitched.

"Calm your nonexistent tits, yeah." He laughed when Ayako sent him a hard glare. "Look, we're almost to the Administration Building. Our destination's the Hokage's Office. It's that room at the very top there."

It took the girl several long minutes before she recovered from her momentary stupor. Consciousness and function returned to her just as they stepped through the threshold of the Hokage's Office and, for her own health, Mitama ignored the wash of déjà vu that threatened to overwhelm her once more. Dazedly, she realized that Genbu had set her on her own two feet and, unconsciously, her tiny hands latched onto the fabric of the man's pants.

"Genbu, Ayako." A coarse voice grumbled in acknowledgement.

"Hokage-sama." The two greeted simultaneously, bowing at the waist and Mitama followed suit.

When they straightened, the tanned man had leaned back in his chair, regarding the young girl with an indistinct expression. "I assume this child is part of the reason as to why you are here without half of your squad. Am I correct?"

Ayako nodded. "Yes, Hokage-sama. Despite our prior mission's objective, we were unable to reach Sakuragaoka in time to prevent its destruction." She gestured towards Mitama. "We encountered this girl several miles from the village, being accosted by a large wild boar. Sakumo-taichou dispatched the feral creature promptly and retrieved the child. Through some basic questioning, we learned that the girl hailed from Sakuragaoka and had managed to escape the night of the attack."

"Sakumo-taichou, along with Gen and Dotarō, departed for Sakuragaoka to search for any possible survivors, leaving with us the orders to wait until sunset for their return. If they hadn't returned by that time, we were to head for the closest populated area—which had been Echigoya-machi." Genbu added, placing a hand on her shoulder and forcing her from behind his back. "Finally, if they hadn't returned by morning, we were to escort the girl back here, to Konohagakure, where she would be safe."

"Is that right? Was it…?"

"The girl claimed she witnessed what she believed to be a wind ninjutsu but, given enough training, any shinobi could possibly learn to use another elemental nature." Genbu shrugged a shoulder, shoving a hand into a pocket. "However, we can't be certain until Sakumo-taichou and the others return."

"Yes, I suppose so." He mused, absently scratching his goatee as he rested his gaze on Mitama. "Now, then. What is your name, child?"

She squeaked as Genbu pushed her lightly, making her clumsily stumble over her own feet. Suppressing the urge to turn and glare at the no doubt smirking shinobi, the girl bowed deeply before rising. With colored cheeks and fidgeting hands, she answered, "M-my name's Mitama, uh, H-Hokage-sama."

"There's no need to be nervous here, Mitama-chan. You're safe here in the Leaf." A solemn look marred his features, making him seem older than he was. "As for your loss, I am deeply sorry for it, as well as for the subsequent pain that you've suffered."

She nodded awkwardly, scratching the back of her neck as she averted her gaze to the ground. "I-It's nobody's fault e-except tha people that did it." As well as her fault but she doubted that would be appropriate to voice. "I-I jus' wanna…not think about it v-very much. Please, Hokage-sama."

"I understand. Very well, let us start on another subject. Has either Genbu or Ayako explained your options for taking up residence in Konoha?"

"Yes, Hokage-sama, a-an' I'd like ta be a shinobi—er, kunoichi?" She glanced away, a sheepish smile on her face. "I'd like ta get tha Advancement Scholarship an' my own h-home, please!"

A flash of shock bolted over his face before a benevolent smile stretched his laugh lines. "Ah. The path of shinobi is one often traveled and one often abandoned. Are you sure you wouldn't prefer staying within one of our facilities and attending Gakuen Kareha for regular schooling? You won't have to worry about feeling out of place, if that is what's wrong. Our caretakers are very kind and would never neglect one of their own."

She didn't hesitate. "No sir, that's not it. I'd jus' like ta attend tha Academy an' get my own home please."

His eyebrows furrowed as he shifted in his seat, leaning forward to pin her with a sharp, intimidating stare. "Mitama-chan, I'm not sure you understand what it is that you're asking for. Are you _fully_ aware and prepared to endure the responsibility and dedication this endeavor would require?"

The girl wrung her hands together but kept her gaze steady. She wouldn't lie and claim she was fearless but she refused to cower before his blatant attempt at submission—it would only serve to drive her further from her own, personal home. "N-no disrespect, Hokage-sama, but I know full w-well what it is I'm askin'."

At that, Genbu deemed it an opportune time to interrupt. "If I may interject, Hokage-sama?"

The Hokage arched an eyebrow, resting his chin in the palm of a hand. "I take it that it was _you_ , Genbu, that told her of the Advancement Scholarship and its requirements?"

"That I am, Hokage-sama. However, it was with good reason. Despite her rather hayseed appearance, this one here is a lot keener than one would initially believe at first glance." He smiled lazily, completely unapologetic as he ruffled up the sulking girl's hair. "She's literate—which is a miracle considering her rustic background. Her survival instincts are impressive—she survived alone in Fire Country for about a week and would've made it to Echigoya-machi had it not been for that one small hiccup. She has a vast array of knowledge, spanning various different subjects. Hell, she even knows the twelve basic hand seals."

He watched his subordinate. "So, I am to take it that you are vouching for the girl?"

"She has a little problem with her bladder control but yeah, I'm vouching for the kid." He snorted lightly, in complete amusement as Mitama stomped on his foot. "It would be a waste to send her to the civilian school."

"What about you, Ayako?" He stated, shifting his gaze to the blonde woman. "You've been observing her as well."

"While I don't agree with Genbu's hyperbole, it would be an untruth if I were to claim that she was simply of average intelligence. Her reasoning skills are notable, as well as her social studies—particularly that of economics. Her logistics is very basic but deserves mention considering her rural environment." The willowy kunoichi gave Mitama a sideways glance. "The girl has indications of being a sensor, which likely bolstered her odds of her surviving as long as she did, though, she did do adequately even if one were to not take that into account. If given enough training, I believe she'd fit in _somewhere_ but I do agree that it would be a waste to send her to Gakuen Kareha; the odds are that she'd likely move at a pace far above her peers and we'd end up attempting to recruit her for the Academy, anyways _._ "

He stared at the trio blankly before releasing a soft puff of a laugh. "I see. It seems it's decided then, Mitama-chan. After your citizenry papers have been processed, you'll be allowed to take the entrance exam for the Academy—and you'll be able to move into your new home, _if_ you pass."

A sunny smile curled at the corners of her lips as the words left the Third's mouth. Barely suppressing her happiness, she bowed deeply at the waist. "Thank ya very much, Hokage-sama…! I'll do my very best!"

"I don't doubt that, Mitama-chan." He smiled obligingly while tilting his head towards the kunoichi. "Now, Ayako, escort Mitama-chan downstairs and help her with her papers. I'll be waiting for your mission report before nightfall."

"Yes, Hokage-sama." The woman bowed before she snagged the back of the small girl's shirt, using it to drag her along. "Come, child. The sooner we get this finished, the sooner you'll be able to get the resources to fix that horrid dialect of yours."

"As for you, Genbu, there are a few more things I'd like for you to go over for me."

"Yes, Hokage-sama."

Mitama followed quietly, the smile that had brightened her face falling in favor for a thin-lipped frown.

The Third was a man known for his mastery of the ninja arts; deception and concealment of emotions should have been elementary to the man.

She had seen it, however.

Mitama had seen that skeptical glint in his eye. It was a look that doubted her intelligence, doubted her _worth_ simply due to her lowly heritage. It was irksome being judged like that, as if she deserved no chance to prove herself and differentiate herself from the status as _country bumpkin_.

But it was fine.

She would pass the entrance exam with flying colors.

It was not a boastful claim.

It was simply a conclusion.

* * *

( _"Congratulations. You are now an official kunoichi of Konohagakure no Sato. Wear that forehead protector with pride. Remember, always embody the Will of Fire."_ )

* * *

Mitama let out a quiet yawn as she stretched out her achy, stiff limbs.

Genbu had been right about the papers. She found herself having _plenty_ of fun with them.

She turned over a page in the thick packet, sighing when she realized she still had another ten pages to fill out.

* * *

After a short interview consisting of questions regarding her background, she was carted off to the nearest orphanage for temporary stay. Her kunoichi escort led her into the quaint building, said a few words to a caretaker and left without another word to either Mitama or the chubby, round-faced woman that had placed a gentle, comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Mitama-chan, was it?" Her lips curled at the girl's tentative nod. "Well, come inside, dear. Everyone has gathered for dinner. I'm sure you're hungry."

Mitama found herself tuning out everything the woman chattered into her ear as they moved to the designated eating area.

She didn't mean to but she had no reason to remember the people or rules of a place she wouldn't be around for very long.

* * *

None of the children spoke to her. The caretakers hid it well but seemed to be wary of her.

She had heard their whispers of her appearance; they spoke of how she looked and acted uncannily like a ghost—a _spirit_. Her skin was pale, accented by large, darkly-rimmed brown eyes and hair the deepest black. She was thin, wispy and her footsteps were light, barely making noise as she glided across the hardwood floors. She kept quiet often times but, when needed, she spoke in a soft, subdued manner, seldom raising her voice among others. She barely slept at night—if _ever_ —and it only served to perturb to children and workers alike. It may have been simply waking up to the sight of her, the girl that seemed more ghost like than human.

Mitama frowned, eyes absently following after a spider on the windowsill before her.

Really, she didn't mind the solitude. She wasn't much of a social butterfly, anyways.

* * *

Days passed.

Mitama kept herself occupied between exploring the general area around the orphanage and tending to the half-dead, ravaged plants that dotted the facility's grounds.

It must have been the farmer's blood.

* * *

Her citizenship processing had been completed by her fifth day in the orphanage.

There wasn't much to confirm about her identity. She had been born in a rural farming village that had no doctor. She didn't know the circumstances of her birth but knew that she did have a birth certificate. She had found it one autumn afternoon, tucked away in her grandmother's things and she had took it, simply because it was _hers._ Etched on it had been her both her parents' names, her grandmother's name and, funnily enough, her brother's name as well—he had been another witness to her birth.

A small, whimsical smile teased her lips as she stared at the parchments that declared her an official citizen of Konohagakure no Sato.

* * *

"Hello, little one."

He came for her several weeks after she'd received her papers.

Her quivering hands snagged one of his, a beaming smile brightening her monotone features. It was difficult for her to suppress the joy and relief of seeing the silver-haired man before her, seemingly alive and well.

"Sakumo-san…!" Her voice was breathy, light as she spoke. "You're back!"

"There was nothing to worry about, little one." He patted her head gently, chuckling in that familiar baritone that washed over her like a refreshing summer shower. "Did Ayako and Genbu treat you well in my absence?"

Her lips curled down in minor distaste. She couldn't outright say she hated them; hatred was such a _strong_ word that she was unwilling to use it so lightly. If she were being honest, they weren't that bad. Ayako insulted her speaking while Genbu made constant jabs about her _one_ accident but they hadn't doubted her abilities—not like their leader, the Third Hokage, had done. Mitama would even go so far as to say that it was with their intervention that she was able to take the Academy's entrance exam.

She shrugged a shoulder. "They were _okay_ , I guess. I don' really like 'em that much, though."

He laughed. "Well, you aren't the first to say that and I doubt you'll be the last."

The girl nodded before another thought entered her head. "Ah! Sakumo-san, I'm gonna take tha entrance exam for tha Academy. Did you hear 'bout it?"

A softer, solemn smile formed as he nodded. "That's actually why I'm here. I was free and was asked to guide you to your testing area."

"Really?" She couldn't stop her bashful smile of delight. "T-thank ya, Sakumo-san."

He ruffled her inky locks, a hidden emotion shining in his onyx eyes. "There's no need to thank me. It's my job to help the people of Fire Country."

Her hands clutched his larger, warmer one a bit tighter. "I know, Sakumo-san."

* * *

The Academy's entrance exam was laughably easy, just as Mitama knew it would be.

It was predominately written, save for the brief fitness and health exam given by an on-sight medic before it began.

The ebony-haired girl was only a bit miffed at her diagnosis. Insomnia—chronic for it had lasted for _well_ over a month—as well as symptoms that suggested she suffered from anemia. The girl only experienced chilly hands and feet, pale skin and shortness of breath but, despite those symptoms, she was sure she was of acceptable health. When she voiced that, however, the medic-nin had merely squinted at her dubiously and recommended she followed up with a doctor.

All in all, Mitama couldn't help but feel she had wasted valuable time taking such tests.

* * *

She supposed it was worth it when Sakumo-san accompanied her to her new home.

She walked into the small apartment, grimacing a bit at the dust and cobwebs in every corner. Genbu had been right when describing it. A minimalist place with only the bare necessities, the only separate room being a bathroom. It was plain, the only notable feature of the tiny living quarters was that she got a small balcony that overlooked a few restaurants and shops. Her lips pursed as she plopped down onto the mattress, coughing violently as dust billowed up from its seams.

"It's not _so_ bad." Sakumo-san said with gaiety. "I'm sure that after a bit of cleaning, it'll be a very cozy place to call home."

"Home." She echoed quietly, that familiar sense rising in her breast. "This is…my _home_."

It was an odd and confusing feeling.

Sakuragaoka had been her birth home but, for some reason, she lacked the sense of attachment one would have to such a place. She had cried for the lives lost—had cried because of her own _weakness_ but, for a reason unknown to her, she couldn't shed a tear for Sakuragaoka being _gone_.

"Little one?" Sakumo's voice invaded her thoughts. "Is there something wrong?"

She wondered what Sakumo-san would say if she told him that. She wondered if he would dismiss her words, attempting to comfort her with the claims that she was still grieving and that the feeling of loss never went away, only lessened with time. She wondered if he'd believe her if she told him she felt no such loss.

"No, 'm okay." She smiled weakly. "...Jus' hungry. An' I wanna go shoppin' for clothes."

"I can help with the hunger but you may want someone else to help with the clothes."

She wondered what he would say if she told him that, in her small, dingy apartment beneath the leaves of Konohagakure no Sato, she felt more at home than she ever had in Sakuragaoka.

And, for the life of her, Mitama couldn't figure the reason why.

* * *

 **A/N: A lot of things stuffed in one chapter simply because I wanted to get to Academy days by chapter three. The Advancement Scholarship concept is from** _ **Mind the Gap**_ **by Sage Thrasher—a very interesting SI, by the way. Canon claims that orphans of the Konoha Orphanage can enter the Academy when they reach a certain age but, for some reason, that doesn't sit well with me; I like to think a certain number of orphans are allowed to enter the Academy due to money constraints. I don't know how citizenship works in the Shinobi World—the MC grew up in a rural village in Fire Country. Would it take very long for her to be granted citizenship with her whole family dead and as a minor? She had a birth certificate.**

 **Thank you very much for the reviews, favorites and follows. They make me so happy. Please leave any constructive criticisms—I only get better through it.**


	3. STEP III

**Disclaimer:** _Naruto_ © Masashi Kishimoto.

* * *

 **III.**

To say that Mitama wished to attend the Academy solely for the chance to live alone would be a lie.

Explaining the exact reason would be impossible—it was merely a _feeling_ that dwelled deep down in her soul _._ Her path was that of shinobi, a path muddled with darkness, _death_ and sorrow but also irradiated with strength, pride and glory. Even as her heart beat rapidly with disquiet, Mitama knew the path she were to walk; she could not see herself following any other.

It was intrinsic, inscribed within every fiber of her being.

Doing anything else was not an option for her.

* * *

It scared her sometimes, feeling the things that she felt and knowing the things that she knew but not knowing how and why she knew and felt them.

* * *

Sakumo-san had been kind—just as usual—and treated her to a filling and tasty dinner of gyūtan at Yakiniku Q. Afterwards, they dropped by a local textile shop at her request to pick up some sheets for bedding and, when they were finished, the grey-haired man led her back to her fourth floor apartment.

Hours later, Mitama spent her first night in her apartment on the balcony counting stars while wrapped up in her newly-purchased _tacky,_ multicolored quilt that Sakumo-san had picked out and gotten for her.

* * *

In the early morning, she shook off the vestiges of exhaustion that clung to her and allowed herself a moment to properly take note of her apartment.

Dust and cobwebs were aplenty, as previously noted. Refrigerator and cupboards were bare. Dressers and closets were empty. Her bed had sheets but she was reluctant to spread them over the mattress without proper cleaning.

She let out a sigh as she headed towards the shower; she had a lot of work to do within the span of a week.

* * *

Her goal had been time-consuming but ultimately amounted to purchasing the multiple necessities needed for comfortable, cleanly living and turning her house into a proper home for a budding kunoichi-in-training.

Her first stop had been to the Administration Building where, after showing her papers, she picked up her monthly stipend of five thousand ryō. Considering that all her utilities were paid by the village, five thousand ryō was quite a bit of money for her to spend through—especially at the age of six and without parental supervision.

She couldn't help but think it rather irresponsible to allow a child so young to have full reign over their own finances but Mitama was not one to question village politics and policies.

Her first purchase had been a cheap but decidedly pretty violet coin pouch that she had tucked into her blue obi for safe keeping and a store-bought miso onigiri that made her grimace in distaste.

The rest of her days seemed to fly by once she began to seek out stores, compare various prices, purchase items and drag them back to her fourth floor apartment with heavy, fatigued arms and legs. Cleaning items and household products were plentiful in Mitama's apartment—a chūnin was scheduled to inspect her living quarters the day before her first at the Academy. By the time she finished scrubbing and polishing, the girl was sure she had had a stroke and suffered from a hernia and, she knew it to be an odd moment when she _welcomed_ sleep that evening.

It did not end well. Not when she awoke with a scream locked in her throat from being bisected.

Shopping for clothes and school supplies had been a reprieve for her tired body. Text books and work sheets were provided by the Academy; all Mitama herself really needed to buy were pencils, erasers, brushes and note scrolls, all of which had been available at a convenience store a short distance from home.

Clothing was easy enough to purchase as well—the Academy didn't have a mandatory dress code but there were suggestions on suitable apparel included. Unlike Gakuen Kareha, the Academy was a military training institute and was guaranteed to have practical activities that resulted in dirtied and damaged clothing. Cotton linen fabric was highly recommended for its durability and comfort; mesh material as well was suggested for a similar reason. Girls were urged to wear shorts of some kind if they preferred dresses and skirts—or, at the very least, stockings or leggings to avoid compromising their dignity.

What Mitama really stocked up on was _food._ The Academy had a nutrition guide, detailing the various food groups and nutrients she'd need for her body to grow healthy and strong. The girl paid careful attention—her body was frail, weak and the gods knew she'd need all the help she could get to build muscle and stamina.

She stared at her thin, wimpy arms in loathing.

* * *

Mitama stared at the small table full of food, too much for her small stomach. She regretted letting gluttony get the best of her. She out a soft, dismal sigh as she cleaned off her metal chopsticks with a cloth.

A beat of silence passed before something moved in her peripheral.

She could see them eating with her, there in the corner of her eye.

Her mother. Her father. Sakumo-san. Even Ayako and Genbu.

"Itadakimasu."

She enjoyed being alone but even she couldn't stop the forlorn feelings that roiled in her chest.

* * *

Her lips pursed as she wrung her hands together, anxiously watching the familiar chūnin, Ayako, run a finger over her dresser, looking for any bit of unacceptable dust to prove Mitama's inability to keep a clean space. When she found none, she gave a curt nod, scribbling something down on her clipboard before moving over to the sable-eyed girl's almost overflowing refrigerator.

"An adequate job." The blonde chūnin said. "I have seen better spaces but I have also seen worse."

Mitama let out a soft sigh of relief but still her eyebrows knitted with worry. She had known she would pass the inspection.

There was another, completely different matter on her mind that distracted her.

"You are nervous." Ayako stated blandly, tucking her papers under an arm. "Most clan less children are; the Academy is nothing like its counterpart."

Her head tilted and she leveled Ayako with a neutral look.

The woman was correct. The Academy and Gakuen Kareha were two completely different entities, almost on two separate planes of existence. The girl had felt it the moment she had stepped into the lofty establishment for testing; there was an intimidating prestige that clung to the painted walls and oaken floors—the sense that a pitiable girl like her didn't deserve to walk its halls. Gakuen Kareha, on the other hand, had been innocuous and warm, blending in perfectly with Konohagakure's bright and friendly scenery. The civilian school had been blissful and innocent, almost ignorant and mindless in a way.

"I find it interesting that a child who watched her village burn to the ground is faltering at the prospect of going to school." The chūnin arched a brow, looking down at the girl with indifference. "I suggest you get your emotions under control, child. Genbu has hopes much too high for a child like _you_ but, for some reason, I thought it wise to get myself involved. Now, barely a month later, my name has already been associated with yours." Her turquoise eyes darkened, lips thinning as she moved towards the door. "I suggest you do all that is necessary to prove Genbu and me right—or there _will_ be consequences."

She dipped her head, trying futilely to calm her clenching stomach. The last thing Mitama needed was someone threatening her—and it was an unnecessary threat at that. The girl was more than intelligent enough to know that her performance impacted _more_ than just herself; two shinobi vouching for a miserable, hick orphan of a little girl to be accepted into the Academy on a scholarship funded by the village was not some piddling issue to ignore.

"Ah." Ayako paused briefly in her departure. "You were right, by the way. Genbu asked me to pass that along."

She nodded absently, not comprehending the woman's words.

* * *

A few minutes later, Mitama decided to get herself a plant for company.

She needed something that would not judge and condemn her, something silently supporting to spill her feelings to.

* * *

She was the child of farmers.

She was accustomed to dirt beneath her fingernails. She was used to muddying her clothes and skin. She was adjusted to watching small buds bloom into beautiful, majestic stalks and twisting, twining vines that provided food for both herself and many others. She even enjoyed whispering to the silent plants, telling them things she would never tell another.

Ayako herself had suggested it—not verbally but simply by being born Yamanaka.

The Yamanaka were a people that were known and feared for their techniques that could instantaneously infiltrate the dark recesses of the mind. They were experts in intelligence gathering, psychology, sociology, espionage and, in particular, interrogation. Along with the Nara and Akimichi, the Yamanaka created a trifecta of unsurpassed teamwork that garnered both the respect and terror of many.

To most civilians, however, the Yamanaka were merely the owners of the local flower shop.

"Can I help you today?" A boyish voice asked sprightly.

She jolted, an awkward smile pulling at her lips as she shifted slightly away from the boy invading her space. "A-ah…! Uh, jus' lookin' for a house plant."

"Oh?" His cyan eyes twinkled as he gave her a bright smile. "Well, why don't I show you some of our popular choices? Please follow me."

He led her around the vicinity, pointing out the various colorful plants with gleaming eyes and a mouthful of information about them. She played the polite customer, nodding whenever he turned to look at her and asking questions about the plants she knew nothing of—which weren't very many, surprisingly and unsurprisingly.

The faint sense of déjà vu squeezed her heart as she gently touched the soft petals of a yellow flower that resided in a box full of colored plants.

"Ah, the tulip. It's—"

"It's a bulbous, perennial plant indigenous ta mountainous regions that blooms in spring. They come in virtually all colors an' various shapes an' sizes. Despite bein' perennial, a lot o' people treat 'em as annuals ta be planted anew each year as Fire Country doesn't have the mountainous regions that tha flower prefer for vernalization." Mitama prattled off absently, eyes fastened on the yellow petals. "In hanakotoba, the tulip has different meanings dependin' on tha color: red for fame, charity an' trust. Yellow is…" Her voice weakened before she continued, "Yellow stands for…a one-sided love."

Mitama frowned lightly as she stepped away from the box of tulips, eyes flickering over to the boy with his mouth agape and eyes wide. Her pallid cheeks flushed and she offered the floundering blond a diffident, apologetic smile. "S-sorry. Uh, I'll just take a small box o' lavender, please."

The boy closed his mouth with a sharp click. "O- _kay_?"

She followed him to the register, eyes trained on the floor as she ignored the probing stares of the boy and the woman cashier that was obviously related to him. She pulled out a few bills, placed them on the counter, took her purchase and briskly stepped out into the late afternoon sun.

"—tama, I think Ayako said her name was. She doesn't really look like much to me."

Her shoulders hunched, the chūnin Yamanaka's earlier words following her home.

* * *

"You'll keep me company, right?" She whispered softly, fingers tracing the violet bits of petals. "I'll take care of ya so jus' listen ta me. _Please._ "

* * *

She roused from her meditation early morning, before the sun had emerged from the horizon.

She picked out her clothing. She showered and washed her hair. She ate a hearty breakfast. She packed her supplies and lunch in her satchel. She watered her pot of flowers and whispered to them lovingly. She dried and brushed her hair. She brushed her teeth. She put on a bit of concealer makeup to obscure the dark bruises beneath her too large eyes. She slipped on her sandals. She muttered a soft prayer of strength before stepping out into the morning crisp.

Mitama walked to her first day of Academy alone.

She had trouble ignoring the spark of resentment that flashed through her as she watched mothers and fathers accompanying their beloved children to school that morning.

* * *

"Class, we have a new student today!" The rotund man, Matsudo-sensei, announced. "Why don't you introduce yourself to your classmates? Don't be shy."

The girl bowed deeply at the waist, hands clutched together tightly at her thighs. "My name is M-Mitama. I hope that ya'll will take care o' me an' I apologize for any trouble I might cause ya."

The twenty five or so class of child mumbled out tired, unenthusiastic greetings as she straightened. Matsudo-sensei placed a heavy, comforting hand on her shoulder. "All right, then. Let's get you seated… Kaede, raise your hand."

A lone arm raised, belonging to a girl with coffee-colored hair pulled into an immaculate bun. The girl regarded her with an irritated, pinched expression as Mitama slid into the seat beside her.

The ebony-haired girl could only hope that she could remain inconspicuous among her classmates—the less they noticed her, the less hassle and discomfort she would have to endure and the easier she could focus on her studies.

* * *

Mitama had arrived just a day after the end of summer break. Judging by the delayed answers and comprehension, she could only guess that most of the children were still recovering from the indolence the five week break had induced.

"How about we refresh ourselves with a bit of review?" Matsudo-sensei let out a booming, hearty chortle as the class burst into complaints and groans. "Now, now, we'll start with something easy. Can anyone tell me the history of our home, Konohagakure?"

The clamor died down almost immediately as the students did their best to become unassuming, not wanting to be picked to answer the teacher's question that required a bit too much thought. Mitama made no move to raise her hand, instead waiting a few moments to see if another would rise to the occasion. The bearded man chuckled lowly, head shaking as he motioned to someone seated somewhere behind her.

"I know _you_ know the answer but why don't you give your peers a chance to answer, Minato?"

The name was one she had heard before—but not recently.

Her chest clenched painfully. Her lips twitched as she slowly lifted her hand.

"Ah, our new student. Go ahead, Mitama."

A tongue darted out to moisten dry lips. "Konohagakure was founded in 214 durin' tha Warring States Period by Hashirama Senju an' Madara Uchiha. Tha infrastructure of Konohagakure was made usin' Hashirama's famed Wood Release an', due to that unique ability as well as his charisma, he was selected ta be tha First Hokage in March of 215. Shortly after his induction inta office, he clashed wit' Madara Uchiha at tha Valley of tha End, a place created from tha destructive power displayed durin' their battle. It was with this battle that Konohagakure came inta possession of its first bijū—the Nine-Tails—an' its first jinchūriki—Mito Uzumaki, wife of Hashirama—who sealed tha great beast within herself. At some point, numerous small-scale wars began ta break out between tha villages an', it was during one of these that Hashirama Senju passed. On his death bed, he granted his position ta his brother, Tobirama Senju, who was inducted inta office in June of 243. Tobirama worked tirelessly ta achieve political stability an' implement institutions that would make tha village system work—tha Academy, tha Chūnin Exams an' tha Konoha Military Police Force were all brought about by tha Second Hokage. Only two years after his induction inta office, Tobirama died nobly in what had progressed ta be tha First Shinobi World War by actin' as a decoy ta protect his team from Kumogakure's Kinkaku Force. Before passin', he bestowed tha title of Hokage ta Hiruzen Sarutobi, who is now our third Hokage an' has been since 245."

A pencil dropped.

Mitama didn't dare to look up.

"A-ah…" Matsudo-sensei stuttered uncertainly before he cleared his throat. "T-that was wonderful, Mitama! Why, I think with your insightful answer, we can move on to our next topic! Right. Everyone, get out your math textbooks and turn to page 121."

She bit her lip as she opened her book, listening to the quiet whispers and shuddering under the hard, probing stares.

Mitama wondered if it would have been better to stay silent.

* * *

They were released for lunch around noon. Mitama had been the first out the door and had swiftly climbed into a tree to eat and observe.

The others filtered out at a sedated pace, gradually filling the bright courtyard with chattering children more aware than they had been that morning. As she stuffed a salmon onigiri into her mouth, she noted that all the students had fallen into groups of sorts, apparently based on family and background.

As expected, the Nara, Akimichi and Yamanaka grouped together, suffusing the area with bright laughter, exasperated murmurs and loud chewing and crunching. The Aburame occupied several dark corners, hiding away from both human and sunshine alike. The Inuzuka darted to and fro with their canine companions, twisting and weaving through their peers with boisterous growls, barks and yips. The Kurama took perch on the swing sets, seemingly distorting the reality around them with practiced illusions. The Hatake wandered around the perimeter of the enclosure, remaining distant and tame. The Uchiha and Hyūga lingered in densely packed congregations, separated from each other—and everyone else—as they scowled at any and all who dared approach. If she squinted, she could make out a few Senju children breaking the mold, conversing with all groups—except the Uchiha.

A few unaffiliated groups of two or three lingered in the areas unoccupied and, instantly, Mitama knew them to be the clan less children, much like herself. It was obvious; the lost looks marring their round faces and the way they shied away from the other, larger groups.

Mitama picked up another rice ball, briefly catching sight of sun-tinged gold and soft baby blues.

* * *

The day ended uneventfully with a review reading and written assignment that Mitama decided she would complete in the morning.

* * *

She made a perfect score on her first homework assignment that she completed a mere twenty minutes before she departed for class. She quietly tucked the paper into her bag to later be thrown away.

She had no one to show it to and, therefore, no reason to hold on to it.

* * *

Ayako smirked as she scribbled on her clipboard. "Doing well, I see."

Her fingers played with the edges of her dress, eyes fastened on her potted plant. "Ayako-san, w-would ya please eat din—"

"Didn't I tell you about speaking to me with that dialect? Get. It. _Fixed._ "

Mitama bit her lip, holding back the tears that threatened to spill. She nodded mutely, listening to the scratching of Ayako's pencil and the click-clack of her heels as she left her apartment.

* * *

September tumbled into October.

After the three days of review, the class immediately delved into learning to channel chakra to the easiest of the three hundred sixty-one tenketsu, the forehead and hands. They expanded upon the basic chakra theory given in first year by learning the beginnings of the four E-ranked Academy ninjutsu: the Replacement, the Rope Escape, the Clone and the Transformation.

* * *

She had skipped first year because of her exceptional academic marks on her entrance exam.

"Rat. Ox. Tiger. Hare. Dragon. Snake. Horse. Ram. Monkey. Bird. Dog. Boar. The twelve basic hands seals, named after each of the twelve animals of the Chinese Zodiac." Matsudo-sensei recited as he paced before the line of students. "Learn them. Remember them. They are your foundation for the ninja arts."

Her breathing was steady, light, her chest barely moving as she inhaled and exhaled. Her eyes were half-lidded, seeing the rows of seats before her but unable to pick out their distinct features. Concentration was trained completely, solely on the snaking heat that traveled from the pit of her stomach, coiled over her shoulders and pooled at her forehead.

The leaf stuck fast and firm.

Mitama learned to channel chakra because it was deemed redundant and a waste of time to put her with children her age to learn the things that she already knew like the back of her hand.

For her, it had been easy. Almost as if she had done it innumerable times before.

At the tender age of six, Mitama knew that she had _never_ used chakra but she _knew_ that she had used it once upon a time. It came to her, like a duck taking to water—known at the very beginning of her existence. It simply took her until that moment in time to realize.

She took another leaf, placing it above her left eye. The chakra slowly spread, roughly, like butter on newly baked bread. The leaf stuck.

She did the same over her right eye. The chakra spread easier that time, like peanut butter, thinning out over the three different areas. It stuck as well.

"Good job, Mitama! It seems that you are a natural at this."

The leaves fell as sharp stares burned the sides of her head.

* * *

"Another inspection passed." Ayako giggled, footsteps loud as she made to leave. "I hear from a relative you are doing well. I hope this keeps up—more for your sake than mine."

Mitama said nothing. She merely flipped a page of her book, _A Guide to Fire Country's Language for Dummies_.

* * *

"Ah, Mitama. Can you come here for a moment?"

She shouldered her satchel, making her way down to her teacher's desk. She inclined her head politely, a tiny, demure smile on her face. "Yes, Matsudo-sensei?"

"While I was looking over your exam files, I noticed that you hadn't taken the mandatory first aid course." He adjusted his glasses slightly, squinting with the action. "I'm aware that you skipped the first year because of your scores but it is _vital_ that you get this completed by the end of this year."

She mutely looked over the slip of paper given to her. "…I know this, Matsudo-sensei."

He cocked an eyebrow, confusion clearly evident. "You do? May I ask where you learned?"

"I checked out some books in the library." She lied easily, suppressing the urge to avert her eyes. "While I was temporarily livin' in the orphanage, I read a few things an' helped out while waitin' for my papers ta be processed."

The rotund man made a humming noise, leaning his chin on his palm as he watched her. "I _see._ Well, you'll still have to take an assessment test on first aid—it requires a practical exam overseen by certified medical personnel at the hospital."

"Ah." She said simply. "Yes, Matsudo-sensei."

"Have a pleasant day, Mitama."

"…You too."

* * *

She sniffed derisively as she stepped into Konoha General Hospital.

There was an odd sense of belonging as she stepped over the threshold and the thick, suffocating smell of bleach pervaded her senses. She let out a huffing sigh and rubbed her arms as she made her way to the reception desk. She spoke softly, alerting the receptionist of her request.

"Another Academy student?" The nurse sighed softly, gesturing towards a girl passing by. "Nonō, can you take this girl to the where they're carrying out the CPR assessments?"

"Yes. Come this way please." The bespectacled teen smiled sweetly.

Mitama followed without qualm. The walk was quick, a few steps down a hallway—the ebony-haired girl wondered why the receptionist didn't get up and take her herself. The girl apparently named Nonō gently ushered Mitama into the room with a kind smile and a pat on the shoulder. "Sensei is with another student. She'll be finished in a few moments. Just wait here, okay?"

Nonō left. Mitama waited. The curtain divider pulled back, revealing an irate woman and a sheepish blond that made Mitama's heart clench.

"Yeesh, brat. You made that _a lot_ harder than it should've been." The woman tsked, shaking her head with a hand pressed to her forehead. "Just remember not to _tongue_ the patient if you have to do CPR. As a matter of fact, just let a teammate do it—you should probably be the last resort."

"Y-yes, Tsunade-sensei." He rubbed the back of neck bashfully, fair cheeks glowing brightly. "Thank you for your time."

His blue gaze shifted towards her at that moment, a glint of recognition flashing in them before he realized that she had heard the doctor's blunt words. He mumbled out a quiet greeting, quickly brushing past her and into the sterile halls. She couldn't help feeling _hurt_ for some reason and she couldn't stop her chest from throbbing so painfully. The amber-eyed woman cleared her throat loudly, obnoxiously and Mitama jolted into action, quickly scurrying to her side.

"C'mon, c'mon! I don't have all day, brat! Make goo-goo eyes later!"

"U-um, I wasn't—" She wilted beneath the woman's vicious glare, lips trembling beneath her wrath. "I meant, u-uh—Y-yes, Tsunade-sensei!"

* * *

( _"First clause! No medic-nin shall_ ever _stop medical treatment until the lives of their party members have come to an end!"_

" _Yes, Master!"_

" _Second clause! No medic-nin shall_ ever _stand on the front lines!"_

" _Yes, Master!"_

" _Third clause! No medic-nin shall_ ever _die until they are the last of their platoon!"_

" _Yes, Master!"_

" _Fourth clause! Only those medic-nin who have mastered the Strength of a Hundred Technique of the ninja art Creation Rebirth are permitted to discard the above mentioned laws!"_

" _Yes, Master!"_

" _It is by these tenets that you will live as a medic-nin! I will warn you: our job is not a glamorous one and, often times, it is a thankless one. Do not let the absence of fame and recognition deter you. Take comfort in that it is_ us _who single-handedly hold up the foundation of any squad or platoon! It is_ us _who are their backbones and, without_ us _, they_ will _crumble and they_ will _die!"_ )

* * *

The next day, Mitama and Minato had no interactions with each other.

She honestly didn't know why she expected anything different.

* * *

October faded into November.

They were gradually eased into learning the intricacies of genjutsu. The unit was unbelievably brief, only lasting about a week, mainly because of the advanced control one would need in order to effectively utilize it. Not only that, most shinobi preferred the tangible results ninjutsu and taijutsu yielded. The bare minimum of genjutsu was taught—the textbook definition, the telltale signs of a poorly-constructed illusion and the various ways one were to break out if caught.

* * *

Mitama stood quietly in the hallway, eyes trained on the door to her classroom.

The illusion was there, obscuring something for her sight. Mitama was _sure_ of it.

She made no move to dispel the genjutsu.

Instead, she walked through the classroom door.

The students occupying the room burst into laughter as ice cold water splashed on her head, the metal bucket narrowly missing her. Her eyes blinked languidly, almost uncomprehendingly as she stared down at her ruined clothing and, without a word, she turned on her heel, intent on heading to the teacher's lounge to ask for a momentary pardon to change her clothes.

As she walked, she passed by the year's Ino-Shika-Chō trio: Inoichi Yamanaka, Shikaku Nara and Chōza Akimichi.

They said nothing, merely whispered amongst themselves with Shikaku muttering a low but loud, "What a bother."

* * *

"Inspection passed."

"Yes."

Ayako tapped a painted nail against her rosy lips as she hummed. "I hear through the grapevine that you are having some issues with the other students?"

She knew it was Inoichi passing along information—it was in both his _and_ his clan's nature to pass around gossip, or rather, _information_ as they called it. "A little bit."

"It is not affecting your grades, is it?" The chūnin inquired.

The girl couldn't stop the sardonic huff of laughter. "No."

"Then, you will be all right." She said derisively. "If you cannot even endure this, then you have no business in the Academy."

The woman left.

Mitama absently wiped the blood that bubbled from the broken, abused bit of skin on her lip.

* * *

( _"Team Three, you fail. Go back to the Academy. Go to the Administrative Corps. It doesn't really matter where you go. You're not suited to be on the battlefield."_ )

* * *

During the second week of November and into December, honing their dexterity, accuracy and shurikenjutsu had become the main focus.

* * *

There were two throws: the horizontal throw and the vertical throw. The vertical throw was recommended for beginners while the horizontal was for individuals comfortable with their weapon and control.

Using only the tips of the fingers, hold the shuriken between thumb and index finger. If one were to grip at one of the shuriken's tips, it became easier to throw and added more power but at the cost of accuracy. If one were to grip closer to the shuriken's center, accuracy increased but required extra power in the throw to be effective.

Mitama licked her lips as she held the wooden implement in her hand, getting a feel for the weight in her fingers.

She stood with her left leg forward, knees bent, body relaxed and eyes narrowed at the straw target several feet before her. She lifted her throwing arm, hand a few inches above her head. Her arm extended forth, downward and she shifted her weight to her front leg as she threw. Her cocked wrist flicked downward, the wooden training weapon flying from her hand silently.

It landed a few inches from the center. Her lips twitched as she changed her stance.

She shifted, moving her right leg forth. Elbow close to the body, arm swinging out and pivoting at the elbow. Weight shifted from the rear to front leg and elbow angled upwards for a longer distance. Her wrist flicked out.

It hit.

"Excellent, Mitama!" Matsudo-sensei's voice called out. "Retrieve your weapons and return to the back of the line!"

Something like a smile teased her lips at her teacher's praise.

She took a step. Her leg caught and a tiny squeak left her lips as she landed on her face. A cacophony of laughter filled the training grounds and her whole body burned with embarrassment. She inclined her head, catching sight of a root that hadn't been in that particular spot before. Her eyebrows knitted together as she ignored the raucous chortling, pushing herself to her feet to resume her journey.

She pulled the shuriken out with little effort, dodging the empty space that hid a thick root and stepping over another as her shoe knocked into it.

Her eyes lifted briefly, catching the hazel gaze of Murakumo Kurama.

His lips curled into a cruel smirk.

Her gaze dropped in shame.

He laughed, whispers of _"Stay in your place!"_ following after her.

* * *

Mitama wondered when her savior would return to her.

* * *

Traditional sparring had been occurring since the second month of the school year. Mitama had not been present during that time and, thus, had spent her time after school learning and memorizing the beginning kata for the Academy's standard style.

It was hard for her to adhere to the movements—because of her size; because of her inexperience; because of the vague, hazy memories that skewed her body's motions. The fighting style didn't seem to be suited for her and her limbs rebelled in response, urging her to find an alternative to the rather rudimentary taijutsu style.

* * *

"Kaede, Mitama, enter the circle. Form the Seal of Confrontation." A pause. "Begin!"

She leaned back, narrowly missing the obvious punch aimed at her face.

Kaede pursued immediately, left hand bulleting out. The ebony-haired girl tilted her head and bent her knees, wincing as Kaede clipped her ear but ignoring it to use her right to uppercut the girl. The coffee-haired girl grunted, teeth clicking loudly as she easily shook off Mitama's admittedly weak punch and dropped, moving for a low sweep. Mitama hopped up, dodging the sweep but she was caught completely off-guard by the taller girl's seemingly unnatural speed.

A kick to the stomach forced the air from her lungs. A punch to the chest had her reeling and coughing. The jab to her cheek had her on the ground, seeing stars and clenching rattling teeth.

"The winner is Kaede! Meet at the center and form the Seal of Reconciliation!"

With broken pride and dignity, Mitama pulled herself up from the ground, clutching at her pale cheek that would undoubtedly bruise in the morning. Her tiny hand reached out, index and pointer fingers twining with Kaede's before the older girl snatched her hand away, loudly complaining about the clamminess of her hands.

She stared down at her trembling hand blankly.

* * *

Mitama watched in envy as Minato managed to outlast his opponent, a member of the Inuzuka, known for their fearsome speed and agility.

 _She_ couldn't even beat another _civilian_.

Her heart clenched with bitter admiration.

She entertained the thought of conversing with the golden boy, to ask for his assistance in what she herself could not do but she faltered when his baby blues barely landed on her pathetic form.

* * *

She grimaced at the dark, ugly blotch covering her right cheek as she looked in the mirror. She stared at her concealer makeup before picking up a large bandage.

Her peers giggled and whispered about her newest accessory when she slid into her seat that morning.

It was a month before the bruise fully healed.

* * *

( _"I think you're better suited here and off the front lines. You know you've never really been that great in close combat. You always get jittery, you know? And you can't take a punch to save your life."_ )

* * *

January was focused on learning the identification of foreign shinobi, using the differences between their flak jackets and headbands to differentiate them.

February and March served as the months of review, written and practical assessments for each individual's progress.

* * *

On March 10, 265, Konohagakure declared war on the hidden villages of Iwagakure and Sunagakure, beginning what had been dubbed the Second Shinobi World War.

On March 10, 265, Mitama turned seven.

She blew out the lone candle on her tiny cake, swathing her apartment in darkness.

She curled up in her bed and sobbed.

* * *

By the end of the first semester of the second—her first—year, Mitama had claimed second place in the class rankings, just after the boy genius, Minato Namikaze.

Mitama had maintained a steady grade despite her disadvantage of a late start. While her taijutsu scores were relatively low, residing in the lowest percentile, her exemplary academics and chakra control more than made up for it—the latter was exceedingly impressive, beating out even the class' Hyūga and Kurama members, clans renowned for their refined control.

The ire of the class had been roused since her arrival. Mitama could barely stand to look them in the eye as she stared at her scores in both disbelief and self-satisfaction.

Had she been a clan child, she would've been pissed as well.

They both were of civilian origin. Of the ten civilians that were in the second year class, it was two _civilians_ —one of which came from the boonies of Fire Country—who were _younger_ than the majority of the class that occupied the top spots of the class ranking.

Minato had managed to come away without noticeable scars.

Mitama had been a much easier target for the bigger, taller, and much more experienced of her peers.

* * *

( _"Why do you just_ stand _there!? Why don't you fight back!? Why are you_ so weak _!?"_ )

* * *

 **A/N: This chapter was actually about nine thousand words but I split it. In this chapter, what I strove to portray was the MC's mentality and a facet of her personality—though she holds a sense of maturity through her vastly developed mind, she is still a** _ **child**_ **.**

 **Side note 01: One ryō is equivalent to ten yen. It can then be further converted to USD, where one ryō equals a dime. Five thousand ryō would roughly convert to five hundred USD. Because there is no information on the cost of goods in canon, I merely used the prices from the video games and applied it. Five thousand ryō is chump change in comparison—trust me.**

 **Side note 02: The shinobi schooling calendar is as such: the school year is based off the Japanese schooling year, including corresponding holiday breaks. The MC and Minato are both second year students, having skipped first year for their academic scores—each grade consists of two years of study, if that makes sense. So first year equals two, second year equals two, third year equals two, culminating for six years of official shinobi training. In accordance, if Minato was six and skipped his first year, he would graduate at age ten after finishing his second and third year—as he did in canon. _Or_ he could have taken his graduation exam early. Eh.**

 **I think that's enough. I thank you all for the favorites and follows. The reviews as well. I'm not sure about pairings but I giggled a little when someone already shipped the MC with Minato without them having even met in story. I'll keep it in mind, though. I don't mind canon-breaking pairings as long as they are well-founded.**


	4. STEP IV

**Disclaimer:** _Naruto_ © Masashi Kishimoto.

* * *

 **Warning:** Slight toilet humor.

* * *

 **IV.**

At first, Mitama had waited, hoping that the elder children would realize how immature and cruel they were being. Bullying a child younger and smaller than them was not something to gloat or be proud about.

People mistook her reserved, self-effacing demeanor for weakness and she supposed it true to a certain extent. She didn't like confrontation and did her best to avoid it. She couldn't fully comprehend why others purposefully sought to hurt and antagonize a peer. They _couldn't_ have been jealous—they had _everything_ that she did not. She also could not comprehend why the bystanders did nothing to help.

Sakumo-san had said that shinobi were there to protect the innocent—Mitama wondered if there had been a misunderstanding between her and her savior.

Mitama was weak. She knew this. She also realized it was her own fault that such things were happening to her. She didn't have the strength to stand for herself and so she remained passive, waiting for it all to go away.

Her lips pursed as she molded another bit of sticky rice.

Murakumo Kurama seemed to dislike her most—or, at the very least, it was him that made his revulsion obvious. Being "deceived" by his genjutsu had long since become a daily occurrence for Mitama. She played the fool well, falling for his tricks every time, bearing the brunt of his animosity with nothing more than a blink and a twitch _._

It had been painful, almost excruciating her first semester at the Academy. Being alone with no one on her side—Mitama felt as if she wouldn't make it on her own.

After the initial scorn and isolation, however, it all had grown to be pathetic and irritating. Mitama prided herself on her patience—but even _she_ had her limit.

 _This can't go on._ She nibbled on her lip, wincing as she opened a previous wound with teeth. _Really, it can't._

Though her fingers trembled and her heart ached at the thought of retaliation, Mitama couldn't stop the dark scowl that pulled onto her lips nor could she stop the small inkling of a plot from hatching.

* * *

She was weak, yes, but, even for a little while, Mitama would be strong.

* * *

Mitama was not an idiot. She was second in class with reason.

She was weak. _Physically._ Mentally… She was hesitant to claim she was on the level of Nara—but she could admit that she was well above the average person. There was nothing stopping her from getting back at Murakumo another way that did not require her to curl her frail fingers into fists.

Why fight fire with fire when you can simply douse the flames with water?

* * *

During the holiday from late March to early April, Mitama spent her time tucked away in Konoha Library, reading up on the fauna available to Fire Country and wandering around the forested areas of Konohagakure.

A small, secret smile twitched at the corners of her lips as she uprooted a vine of greenery, distinguished from the rest only through the dull yellow tinge the leaves and roots held. Swiftly, she tucked the plant into her satchel and rose to her feet, dusting off her knees and pivoting on her heel. A surge of heat that had been lingering several kilometers away appeared behind her and she stopped, the control of her body abruptly wrenched for her.

"You just come onto other people's property and take their things?" A familiar voice drawled casually. "That's _stealing_ , you know."

Her hands slid against her hips unwillingly, as if shoving them into pant pockets. She wanted to say something sarcastic, something _scathing_ because Shikaku was one of the clan kids that didn't bother her but his acquiescence was not helpful, either.

"You're not supposed to be out here. Only Nara are allowed."

She unconsciously strained beneath Shikaku's Shadow Possession, the only word capable of falling her from her lips being, "…S-sorry."

There was a pregnant pause before his technique released and she let her arms fall to her sides. He let out a heavy sigh as he walked to stand next to her, rubbing the back of his neck with a frown that made him resemble a tired old man.

"Look, just don't do it again." He scratched his cheek with an exasperated sigh. "Or at least _ask_ me if you want something, okay? I might get it for you—if it's not too much effort to retrieve."

She observed him through her eyelashes. "Sorry."

He sighed once more. "You're really weird. You know that, right? Troublesome, too."

"…Yeah." She replied weakly before briskly moving past the Nara heir.

* * *

" _Just ask if you want something_ _but I'm too much of a lazy ass to actually get it for you!_ " She mocked childishly with a pout, the faces of Shikaku and Genbu invading the privacy of her inner thoughts. " _She's smart but she peed her pants_ , _Hokage-sama!_ "

"Pick me up an' put me down! Nara men are so annoying, _so_ annoying!" She kicked a pillow across the room, only to knock over a pitcher of water. "Argh! No!"

* * *

"Another inspection passed." Ayako murmured, staring at her clipboard. "Are you ready to return to school?"

"Yes." She replied, attention on her pots of plants.

The blonde-haired chūnin stepped to her side, turquoise eyes staring at the two plant holders. "An interesting combination that, lavender and… Is that a Jasuba vine? We don't sell those in our store."

"Yes, I know. Shikaku-san allowed me to take it from the Nara clan forest."

"Pretty. I see you've improvised and used the railing on your balcony as a trellis of sorts. Jasuba Grapes don't ripen until summer, depending on how much sun they receive." Ayako hummed thoughtfully before stating, "The berries are toxic. Ingesting more than twenty can potentially lead to death—for children, that is."

"Yes." Mitama nodded, placing down the small tin watering can. "However, half the fatal dose only causes sudden vomiting and diarrhea due to inflammation of the digestive track."

"Gastroenteritis. I _see_. Well, don't get caught killing anyone—or yourself, child." She snickered softly, using a slim hand to cover her painted lips.

"I won't." She had said it a bit more firm than she had meant.

Ayako's turquoise eyes gleamed. "I see you are working on your dialect. Very good."

"…Thank you, Ayako-san."

Mitama _hated_ the swell of delight that she experienced from the blonde's compliment.

* * *

Academy classes were back in session the second week of April, marking the beginning of the second semester of the second year class.

She arrived to class early but she hadn't been the first to arrive.

She couldn't help but think his visage too bright for so early in the morn. His golden hair, his blue eyes, his fair skin—he was like a bright, clear summer afternoon. She paled in comparison to him, resembling a gloomy, overcast winter eve.

Her sleeved hands tightly clutched the strap of satchel, hesitating at the back of the class as her heart pounded in her chest and her breathing came out in short, quivering bursts. His head turned, feeling the force of her stare on the back of his head and, almost uncontrollably, Mitama's legs began to move.

The girl slid into the seat quietly, keeping her gaze deliberately away from his. She pulled out her selected title for the day, _Genjutsu: The Fabrication of Reality_ , and proceeded to look at it with unseeing eyes.

A _very_ long stretch of silence spanned between them before they shared their first official spoken words.

"That's a book on genjutsu?" He questioned softly, eyes darting from the faintly yellowed pages to her face.

Her heart palpitated, her chilly fingers grew even colder, her feet went numb, her stomach filled with butterflies, her mouth went dry—all of that at a simple _question_ directed towards her. Mitama damned the anxiety that plagued her; her only sliver of courage had been the fact that they were completely alone. She breathed in, her shoulders shifting lightly as she mentally and physically prepared herself for a response to the waiting question.

 _Don't ramble like an idiot, Mitama._

She licked her lips, eyes trained just slightly above his to avoid complete contact. "U-uh, yeah. Our course d-didn't really cover genjutsu in depth and I-I…I thought it would be a good idea to research it a bit more." She breathed in shakily before continuing, "The a-average shinobi focuses on ninjutsu or taijutsu and would most likely expect the same of their opponent. I'm not very strong or sturdy s-so I thought it better to focus on my strength in chakra control. I-I'm not Kurama or Uchiha—I'm looking for a quick, e-effective way to utilize genjutsu without—"

Her words caught in her throat as the muffled murmurs of the other children filled her ears. Immediately, she retreated within herself, arms pulled close to her chest and eyes drawn back down to the pages of her book. Within minutes, the room filled to the brim with chattering students and a chuckling Matsudo-sensei.

"Welcome back, everyone!"

With an inaudible sigh, she stashed away her book and did her best to calm her beating heart.

* * *

Her fingers brushed against a ripped piece of paper as she reached for the bento in her bag.

 _Tell me more about genjutsu when you get a chance. –Minato Namikaze_

A smile warmed her features.

* * *

Mitama squealed loudly, shrilly as the numerous bugs fell over her head and shoulders.

Murakumo and his posse laughed loudly as she ran away from them, presumably scared beyond belief as she rounded a corner out of sight.

She clucked her tongue indifferently as she slowed to a stop, gently, carefully plucking the skittering, scuttling creepy crawlies off of her one by one. She caught the sunglass lens of an Aburame staring at her stoically, critically as she shook out her dress.

She lifted a hand in greeting, using the other to pick a large beetle off her shoulder and drop it to the ground. Slowly, they did the same and, after a moment, the two of them went about their way without another glance.

 _Silly._ She mused with a tiny, smug smile as she walked to the classroom. _Bugs are the last thing that shimmy my jimmies._

* * *

She sat beside him but didn't move to speak.

He remained kind, friendly as he greeted her every morning and said goodbye every afternoon.

He offered nothing more.

* * *

April passed by in a flurry as did June.

Chakra control was once again the primary focus. Mitama congratulated herself on her first successful attempt at the Transformation, beaming beneath Matsudo-sensei's praise and languishing beneath her classmates' glares.

Only Minato offered her a tiny, congratulatory smile.

Her heart warmed but a traitorous voice sighed into her ear not to get her hopes up.

* * *

In her spare time at home, she easily executed the Clone and Rope Escape.

The Replacement had been deemed too dangerous to use in her apartment—she almost broke the pot of her beloved lavender by switching places with it. Luckily, she was quick enough to swap places with it once more; she ended up on her hard, uncomfortable floor in its place with an aching bottom.

For both the safety of her leafy babies _and_ herself, she wouldn't attempt it again.

* * *

She heard gossip of Sakumo Hatake, the White Fang of Konohagakure no Sato, becoming a rising star in Konoha's struggle against the enemy forces.

The anger she held for him abandoning her lessened in the face of his safety.

* * *

She covertly followed after a girl named Uroko—a first year at the Academy—taking note of her characteristics and mannerisms. After several days, she eventually deemed herself ready to approach her.

When confronted with each other, Uroko smiled sweetly, beautifully and greeted her, showing her the various tea flavors and sweets her family provided at their tea house. Mitama nodded demurely with flushed cheeks, able to see how and why many boys were enamored by her.

* * *

In July, her Jasuba vine bore fruit.

 _A shōgi piece moves._ An uncharacteristically wicked smile darkened her features. _With it, I claim victory._

* * *

"Good afternoon, Shopkeeper-san. Could you please direct me to the ingredients needed to make _anpan_?" She bowed courteously, hands clutched together as she looked up at the plump Akimichi woman behind the counter.

"Anpan?" The woman chuckled fondly, reaching over to gently pat her head. "Making something for your sweetheart?"

Her cheeks pinked as she shook her head. "Uhm… N-no, ma'am."

"There, there! No need to be bashful! Didn't you know? There's no better way to a man's heart than through his stomach!" The Akimichi woman chattered excitedly, holding her rosy cheeks. "Why, that's how I managed to worm my way into my dear Chōsukabe's heart! After he had a taste of my _tonkatsu_ and specialty _okonomiyaki_ , there was no way he could deny my overflowing feelings of love!"

Mitama smiled uncomfortably but nodded regardless.

" _Mom!"_ A voice called, growing louder as footsteps drew closer. "I'm heading over to Yakiniku Q to meet up with Ino and Shika!"

"Yes, yes! Go on, Chōza! I'm with a customer right now!"

She frowned as a stout boy emerged from behind the shop's back curtain, a bag of spicy chips clutched in his arm. His head inclined as he caught sight of her, squinted eyes opening briefly to reveal a bit of brown. He said nothing, merely waved his hand in greeting before padding out into the afternoon light.

"Ah, that was my son, Chōza." She laughed, placing a meaty hand on her shoulder. "Don't mind him."

"If you say so." She murmured.

* * *

"Making your own jam?" Ayako inquired, hovering over her shoulder.

" _Made_." She corrected simply, holding up a jar. "It's soft, spreadable and delicious."

"You've tasted it?" A look of amusement crossed the willowy kunoichi's face. "I hesitate to ask the outcome."

Mitama shook her head, face pinching in disgust but there was a hint of mirth in her eyes. "Just a dab to taste for sweetness."

"Why?"

"I made anpan with it to see if I could. It came out well." She shrugged lightly, kneading a bit of dough. "I'm going to eat a whole one later tonight."

Ayako burst into a bout of laughter, as if the girl had said something hilarious. The ebony-haired girl merely cocked a brow, looking at the chūnin skeptically from the corner of her eye as she opened her refrigerator.

The tall blonde wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "I see. Tell me of your results— _if_ you don't die. Ah, by the way, Genbu sends his regards. He apologizes for not being in touch."

"After a practically a _year_ …?" She muttered bitterly. After a moment, a sly smile pulled onto her lips as she handed the chūnin a box. "Give him this. As a belated holiday and-or birthday gift, please."

Ayako snorted, letting out a beat of hysterical laughter as she took the box. "I will see to it that he gets it."

"Make sure he eats it all. Tell him that I didn't spit in it this time."

* * *

She ate a whole anpan and waited. Within twenty minutes, Mitama felt its effects.

The symptoms were abrupt and, had she not been expecting them and waiting in the bathroom, she _wouldn't_ have made it. After spending a night curled up next to her toilet, Mitama was well by morning.

The results were not pleasant—but they were satisfactory. Mitama didn't realize a person as small as her could produce so much. Good thing she had so many cleaning products; her apartment may have become a biohazard zone.

She couldn't stop the devious smile on her face as she packed away everything.

* * *

All she had to do was give Murakumo the anpan.

It was a scheme that could not, would not fail.

She arrived earlier than usual but, upon sensing someone in the room, she covertly transformed into Uroko, the girl that Murakumo furtively had his eye on. Walking down the steps of the class with head held high, she barely turned to acknowledge the golden-haired boy that occupied his usual seat.

She hated that she had a witness to the act that she were about to commit. Shadowing Uroko had simply been a contingency plan that doubled as practice with the Transformation. Actually impersonating the innocent girl hadn't been something she wanted to do but Mitama couldn't very well be caught enacting this stratagem as her mousy, weak-willed self.

She had appearances to keep up, after all.

Honestly, all that would happen was that Murakumo would get a bad, somewhat fast acting case of food poisoning. Perhaps there would be a blow to the girl's family tea house but nothing that could be detrimental to business _._

Comforted by her own thoughts, she placed the delicately wrapped, prettily decorated _bento_ where the Kurama heir made his perch. Pulling out a card and brush, she wrote his name in elegant sweeps, mimicking the first year's handwriting and placing it on the lunch. She smiled, nodding at her handiwork before exiting.

Quickly dispelling the transformation, she entered the classroom once more, her eyes drawn to the ground as she took her seat next to Minato.

"Good morning, Minato-san."

His eyes widened minutely. "…Good morning, Mitama-san."

She missed the confused look on his face.

* * *

Murakumo Kurama arrived and gloated about receiving a specially-made bento from _Uroko-chan._

She wished she could've seen the elated look on his face, only to relish in the dissonance between that and the embarrassment he would soon suffer.

* * *

Lunch came quicker than she expected. Mitama allowed herself to be led to the courtyard by the gaggle of prattling shinobi-in-training.

She broke off near where the Hyūga gathered, wilting beneath their suspicious, hostile glares that followed her until she was ten feet away from them. The girl made to climb up a tree near the Kurama but thought better of it, knowing that they'd notice her and seek to antagonize her. Instead, she floated near the Ino-Shika-Chō congregation, ignoring the strange looks and inquisitive mutterings as she pulled herself into an oak and opened her lunch.

 _That's it, Murakumo._ She mentally goaded, scooping a bit of rice into her mouth. _Don't share that bento with anyone else… You won't be able to deny my overflowing_ love _once you taste it._

And eat Murakumo did. He ate it _all._ He finished when there were approximately ten minutes left to lunch.

Mitama smirked.

* * *

When Murakumo lifted his hand, Mitama knew it to be the time all her months of waiting would finally come to climax.

The next few moments were much too grotesque and disgusting but, despite the sordid nature of the situation, Mitama found it much too entertaining—and rather educational.

She hadn't realized vomit could propel so far through the air; she hadn't realized the Hyūga had shrill cries similar to that of an eagle; she hadn't realize that the Nara could move faster than a snail; she hadn't realized that there was something that could cause an Akimichi to stop eating; she hadn't realized an Inuzuka could pass out from scent despite being around dogs all day, every day; and there were plenty more discoveries she learned over the course of Murakumo Kurama vomiting and _soiling_ himself.

She giggled softly as she closed the classroom door behind her, holding a sleeve over her nose.

* * *

For the first time in her life, Mitama woke from meditation with a smile on her face.

* * *

"Good morning, Minato-san."

"…Mitama-san, you're smiling."

She giggled nervously, a bashful look making home on her countenance. "I am, aren't I?"

"Yes." He paused, eyes falling down to his meticulous notes. "That's good."

She nodded, her quivering hands making it difficult to write steadily.

* * *

No one bothered her the following days.

It was then that Mitama realized Murakumo had been the ringleader of sorts. Without him, the others gifted her with only distant glowers and indifference—things she could easily deal with.

* * *

When Murakumo didn't return the first day, Mitama was elated.

When Murakumo didn't return the second day, Mitama was satisfied.

When Murakumo didn't return the third day, Mitama was unsettled.

When Murakumo didn't return the fourth day, Mitama was concerned _._

"Minato-san?" She asked softly, messing with a strand of hair. "H-have you heard anything about Murakumo-san?"

"Uh… No." He looked from his notes, yellow eyebrows knitting as he layered his blue gaze on her wane form. "Why?"

"N-no reason." Her lips twitched into an awkward, stiff smile.

She missed the knowing gleam within his lingering gaze. "…All right, Mitama-san."

* * *

( _"You shy away from harming another. You flinch when hit. You lack conviction, surety in your strikes. You have no place on the battlefield. Go back to the hospital where you belong, little girl."_ )

* * *

"Yūgumo-san?"

"You? What do _you_ want?"

Mitama toyed with the edge of her top as the Kurama slowly closed in around her. She swallowed, cautiously watching the other five Kurama before her eyes flitted back to the girl.

"How…is Murakumo-san doing?"

"What do you care?" An eyebrow arched and arms crossed. "You know, why should I even tell you?"

"I did it." The ebony-haired girl replied flatly, straight to the point.

Yūgumo's face blanked.

First, confusion appeared. Then, disbelief flickered over her features. Finally, sadistic glee morphed her face into something uncanny for a child.

"I _told_ that idiot Uroko would never in a million years give him a bento!" She laughed, elbowing another clansman next to her. "He didn't listen to me and _that's_ what happened to him! Serves him right!"

Mitama could only look on in bewilderment. They displayed no hostility towards her for poisoning their future leader. Instead, they laughed at _him_. Her fingers twitched violently at her sides as the Kurama barricade relaxed, allowing the suffocating tension to disperse into nothingness.

"W-wha—"

"I have to hand it to you, I didn't expect something like _that_ from _you._ " Yūgumo chortled, running a hand through white locks as she grinned. "Most usually just resort to duking it out but you. _You._ I give you an A plus for creativity and originality."

"What are you talking—"

Yūgumo slapped her back, causing her to grunt and stumble. "Murakumo is gonna be _so_ mad when I tell him—but I can't wait to see the look on his face! Thanks for the laugh!"

Mitama could only stare at the clan kids' backs in complete bemusement.

* * *

"You're…not smiling anymore, Mitama-san."

"No. I'm not, Minato-san."

* * *

She sucked in a sharp breath as she toppled to the ground, her hands and knees skidding painfully across the rocky, knobbly gravel path. A hand dug into her scalp, grasping hair with a steely grip, tugging so violently that she had no choice but to yield unless she wanted chunks of hair ripped out. A grubby hand slapped her cheek and she winced at the stinging pain, eyes squinting closed as she fell to the ground once more.

The hand anchored into her hair once more.

"How dare you!" He screamed, throwing her to the ground. "How _DARE_ you do that to me!"

She didn't respond, only stood to unsteady feet and backed away from the rampaging Kurama. It was futile—he stalked like a hungry lion to bloody meat.

"Do you know how much of a _fool_ you made me look!? You _humiliated_ me!" He spat.

"It doesn't feel very good, does it?" She questioned rhetorically, under her breath as she barely dodged a punch.

She grimaced once he caught her hair again. Murakumo growled in a rather feral, Inuzuka-like manner, yanking her hair so that strands actually did rip out. The girl flinched, face twisting with pain as she idly rubbed her throbbing scalp.

"You really have some nerve." He hissed, hands clenching at his sides as he spotted an instructor passing. "You think you proved something, don't you? You think you actually _did_ something."

Mitama remained tight lipped, her thoughts clear as she stared him down. A sardonic bark of laughter left his lips at her silence.

"You think that, just because you have second place in class, you're better than me?" He mocked, arms crossed contemptuously over his chest. "That thought alone shows how ignorant you are!"

Silence.

Murakumo continued, a sly smirk slinking onto his face.

"Haven't you _ever_ thought it odd that two civilian kids were at the top of the second year class? A class full of children _bred_ to be shinobi and, yet, two civilians are at the top." He sniggered. "How arrogant you are to think that a stupid little girl like you from the uneducated crevices of Fire Country could _ever_ be on our level."

She scowled. The Kurama clan heir left her.

Mitama waited until he was out of sight before she let the pensive mien drop.

Then, she cackled hysterically. Similar to Ayako, she noted vaguely.

How ironic it was that Murakumo Kurama would call another _arrogant._

Mitama was aware of the way the clan kids—or the civilian kids that caught on—adjusted their performance for the various departments to notice them and choose them over another; she had known the moment Genbu vouched for her entrance into the Academy. Possibly before then, too.

She knew she wasn't _the_ most intelligent; she had never claimed that she was. But she _did_ hold second place in the class rankings and, because of that, she was, for all intents and purposes, _superior_ to Murakumo.

It was also a notable achievement to make another poo their pants.

"Mitama-san?"

Her guffaw transformed into a cough at the arrival at the approaching beacon of heat she'd neglected to acknowledge. The ebony-haired girl turned her head, only to freeze at the sight of the golden boy, standing close to her with bandages in one hand and small bottle of water in the other.

She squawked as he crouched and unceremoniously poured the contents over her scrapped knees. "Here. If you leave it like that, it'll get infected."

"U-uh, Minato-san? I can—I can do that myself." She breathed out, pallid cheeks flushing at the attention. "Really. You don't have to g-go out of your way an'…"

He smiled crookedly as he stood to his feet. "Hold out your hands please, Mitama-san."

She grimaced as he tipped the rest of the bottled water onto her ravaged palms. It was uncomfortable having him so close—the only people that had ever stood so close to her like that was her family, Sakumo-san, Ayako and Genbu. The ebony-haired girl willed her chilly, clammy hands to stop shaking, knowing that Minato could only be thinking of how _weird_ and _awkward_ she was. It didn't help that the blond was seeing her in the aftermath of an altercation that left her more battered and bruised than her opponent. How weak could she be not to flex a single muscle in self-defense—but with her thin, delicate form, it would not have made much of a difference.

 _It was worth it, though._ Mitama's bottom lip hurt as she smiled. _I just_ had _to see the look on his face soon—or the novelty would've worn off._

"There." He said as he pocketed the roll of bandages, giving her a friendly smile. "You know…You're a lot stronger than you think, Mitama-san."

"Ah, t-t-thanks." She bowed politely. "Thank you, Minato-san."

He nodded, eyes averting away. "When I first started here, I got a lot of cuts and bruises too."

"R-really?" She found herself blurting out. She couldn't imagine Minato going through the same thing as her.

He hummed, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. "That's why I dream of being Hokage. I want to earn their respect and recognition and prove that I am strong, regardless of my modest background. That way, people who aren't fortunate enough to come from shinobi clans won't have to go through such abuse just to get through the Academy."

Her lips curled into a smile. "That's a—a really great dream, Minato-san. I'm sure you will achieve it o-one day."

Mitama was confident that he would.

She _knew_.

* * *

( _"Finally… After years of hard work, my dream has come to fruition."_ )

* * *

Murakumo growled at her, knocking her lunch out her hands. The courtyard full of children watched, waiting for her response with bated breaths.

She stared at the wasted food before she smiled, voice light as she asked, "Did you poop your pants again, Murakumo-san?"

His entire body turned beet red, from the tips of his ears to the tips of his toes. Her classmates snickered and whispered, pointing rather rudely. Yūgumo laughed and smacked her on the back, sending her forth a few steps.

* * *

She nursed her newest bruise from sparring.

Perhaps it had been karma that she ended up with Murakumo as a partner. It seemed her plan had been a double-edged sword. Apparently, one wrong and a right was still a wrong—applying the properties of positive and negative seemed appropriate to the situation.

Her hearth thrummed with guilt but, after a moment, she shook it off with a snort.

"It was still worth it."

* * *

On March 10, 266, the Second Shinobi World War raged on. Hanzō the Salamander, leader of Amegakure, butchered an entire platoon of Konoha shinobi, leaving only three survivors, the Third Hokage's former students. In exchange for their lives, they were to take the mantle of _Sannin_ from then on.

On March 10, 266, Mitama took several exams and passed them with aplomb, allowing her passage in her third and final year of the Academy. The second semester ended the same as the first—with Minato Namikaze first and Mitama second.

On March 10, 266, Mitama turned eight.

She blew out the lone candle on her tiny cake, swathing her apartment in darkness.

She curled up in her bed, nursing a stomach ache from eating too much cake. She didn't cry that year.

* * *

Her voice caught in her throat as she laid eyes on the girl.

"H-hey. Can you, u-uh, show me to classroom 3-A?"

Thick, fiery red hair framed a face plump with baby fat. Her violet gaze was steady, defiant—a façade that hid the fear and nervousness that was clearly evident in her tense, rigid stance. Beneath the ebony-haired girl's stare, her fat cheeks seemed to puff out like a puffer fish and her hands balled into trembling, little balls at her sides.

"W-well!? Are you gonna help me or not, 'ttebane!?"

She inclined her head at the verbal tic, reminded vaguely of her own rustic dialect she had diligently practiced to suppress. The redhead's face flushed, as if, by simply uttering the word, she had made a grave mistake.

"L-look, don't worry about it. I'll find it m-myself."

Fed up with Mitama's presumed silent judgement, the foreign girl pivoted on her heel and proceeded to march the opposite direction of her destination. Slowly exiting her state of observation, the sable-eyed third year gently snagged the retreating girl's wrist before she had strayed too far. Her lips twitched up as her hand tightened uncontrollably from the almost unbearable heat the redhead emanated.

"…Actually, the class is this way." She said quietly, giving the girl what she hoped to be a friendly smile. "I'm Mitama, by the way."

Violet eyes narrowed suspiciously but, in the face of Mitama's unwavering smile, she relented.

Giving her own bashful but beaming smile, she introduced herself with blinding vigor that _had_ to have been forced. "Hi, Mitama! My name is Kushina Uzumaki! It's nice to meet you, 'ttebane!"

She tilted her head, covering the soft giggle that bubbled past her lips at the energy the redhead displayed.

As she turned away from Kushina, her amiable smile dropped into a harsh frown, a painful, ugly emotion gripping her heart and making her sick to her stomach.

* * *

( _"How…? Why…? Why_ her _and not_ me _!? What does she have that I don't!?"_ )

* * *

 **A/N:** **Admittedly, Mitama is based off myself in terms of personality—to a certain extent. I myself endured bullying for years in school but remained passive, developing social anxiety that still cripples me. But no pity party! Had it not been for those tribulations, I would not be who I am today and I like the person that I am despite my numerous flaws!**

 **Here's some ship teasing in this chapter. I hadn't meant to stir up support for it. It was just a little entertaining and I mentioned it. A reviewer said that it would probably take forever for them to approach each other. Well, they talked and touched in this chapter. So there.**

 **Side Note 01: A Jasuba vine is a combination of Holly berries and Jazbay Grapes from** _ **Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim.**_ **The name itself is a play on Jazbay.**

 **Side note 02: I suppose you can say the class' hostility was a hazing of sorts, an attempt at toughening up the civilian children. I do think clan children would have a form of superiority over those from "lesser" circumstances—not because they are mean but because they were raised in such a manner. It's either that** **—or the kids in her class, particularly Murakumo Kurama, are just little demon spawn that like picking and laughing at the seemingly weak.**

 **I think that's all. Thank you for the favorites, follows and reviews. They make me so very happy. Now, I am off to write on another story of mine that has been neglected for a very, very long while. I hope you all have a blissful holiday!**


	5. STEP V

**Disclaimer:** _Naruto_ © Masashi Kishimoto.

* * *

 **V.**

"Hokage! I'm gonna be the first female Hokage, 'ttebane!"

"Yeah right, _Tomato_!"

She didn't laugh, unlike the more rowdy, antagonistic children.

Kushina's face colored with anger and humiliation, prompting the children to jeer even more.

"I wish to be Hokage as well." The golden boy pressed a fist to his chest, a sign of respect and camaraderie, as his voice rang out over the ruckus. "I wish you luck, Kushina-san. I'm sure you will be a great Fifth Hokage."

"…Fifth? Are you _mocking_ me, 'ttebane!?"

She wanted to laugh. The noise danced about in her belly, waiting for her restraint to falter. The ebony-haired girl was unsure as to _why_ she wanted to laugh at the Whirlpool Country native. There was nothing particularly entertaining about being persecuted for no apparent reason—Mitama _still_ didn't understand Murakumo's reasons for hassling her and the inability to understand perhaps hurt more than the harassing itself.

Mitama was not a bully—her heart, stomach and mouth twisted at the mere thought—but there was something in her that was almost _urging_ the ugly behavior. She chewed on her bottom lip as she kept her eyes trained on her manga, _BoBo's Strange Journey: Part II – Combat Propensity_ , doing her best to suppress the urges that plagued her.

Minato shifted, taken aback. "N-no, I wasn't mocking you, Kushina-san!"

"Don't refer to me with such a casual tone, 'ttebane!"

"Enough, Kushina, Minato." The third year instructor, Hisae-sensei, called their names, a hint of impatience weaving in her brusque tone. "Minato, sit down. Kaede, lift your hand. Kushina, sit in that seat. Class, take out your note scrolls. _Listen_ and do not speak."

The clamor died down in exchange for the morning lesson.

Even as she submerged herself in the day's teachings, Mitama couldn't help but wonder about the source of spiteful sensations that grabbed her heart the longer she looked at the Uzumaki girl.

* * *

The ridicule seemed to die down in her third year.

Mitama let out a breath of air when the day passed without any troubling incidents.

Perhaps it was due to the urgency of impeding graduation, leaving no time for the Kurama heir to pay her any mind. He made sure to glare and inflict minor, annoying bodily harm when possible but, otherwise, his attention was directed elsewhere during school hours.

Perhaps it was due to Kushina Uzumaki's arrival. Her proclamation to become the next and first female Hokage had garnered the attention of many—and not in a particularly positive light. With Kushina's appearance, the sable-eyed girl fell into the background, where her oppressors were more interested in the colorful emotions that burst onto the Uzushio native's creamy complexion.

She was merely grateful for the reprieve.

* * *

The third year of Academy was a time teeming with tension.

The requirements for Academy graduation were as such: a score of seventy or higher on a written exam, successfully performing two of the four E-ranked Academy jutsu and the completion of at least one optional specialization course to help determine and round out the students' skill set.

Mitama buckled down, knowing these last few years were important for the foundation of her ninja career.

* * *

In May and on through June and July, they began to delve into the fields of subterfuge.

Stealth and Infiltration—commonly referred to as S&I—was the first of two Infiltration specializations. It was a mandatory introductory course, concentrating on basic stealth abilities such as cover, camouflage and sound reduction; basic universal visual signs as well were drilled into their heads.

Mitama took well to the lessons.

She was naturally silent and she blended in remarkably well—in the dead of night, at least. In the daylight, she was confident enough in her instincts and camouflaging to escape detection from all who were not sensors and Hyūga. Her sensing skills too were impressive, though a bit unrefined, if she followed and understood her lessons correctly.

She found it odd that when learning the sensing hand seal, she did not need it to sense, having always been able to tell the location of many without effort. When she had performed it and molded chakra, however, her field of perception had decreased but, in exchange, the spikes of heat she had felt for years sharpened into something colder, crisper and made it easier for her to differentiate between each chakra signature.

An interesting discovery, she noted.

* * *

Mitama plucked the strand of red hair between two fingers, examining it with a critical eye. She shook her head as she turned her attention to the blatantly obvious source of heat hidden in a bit of thicket. The girl spread the leaves and branches of the closest bush, revealing the wide, alarmed eyes and covered mouth of the Whirlpool native.

"How'd you find me?" She bleated. "I made sure to cover my tracks!"

Wordlessly, she dangled the single strand of red before the girl's violet eyes.

"Argh! Stupid hair, 'ttebane!"

Mitama shook her head once more, pocketing the strand to discard elsewhere and turning to find her sixth target. Even without her sensing capabilities, she would have been able to find the redhead girl simply due to her neglect to detail.

 _She didn't even tie her hair up._ The ebony-haired girl softly scoffed, flicking the hair into a bit of dirt and covering it, grinding her sandal excessively. _What an amateur mistake._

* * *

"Hey, hey! Good finding me earlier! Say, how about I treat you as a reward?" She scratched her cheek, a sheepish grin on her face as she averted her gaze. "You'll have to show me where, though. Along with a couple other places, maybe…?"

Mitama shook her head, voice soft and apologetic. "…Sorry, Kushina-san. I'm busy."

Really, she was. Her taijutsu was painfully pathetic; her endurance as well. She needed to research ways to rectify her mistake of letting the issue stagnate for so long.

Her face fell, her shoulders slumped—even her vibrant red hair seemed to dull in response. "O-oh. Well, maybe some other time?"

The sable-eyed girl nodded mutely, watching as the lonesome, downcast girl disappeared into the afternoon crowd of people.

 _She'll get used to it._ Her mind reasoned, teeth worrying her bottom lip as she fought the urge to go after the redhead. _There's no reason that she can't. I had to._

* * *

Her progress was minimal. With a lack of direction and saddened violet eyes swimming in her head, Mitama retreated and vowed to try again another day.

She finished off her evening by attempting another chakra control exercise, Tree Walking. She lasted for about four minutes before she fell from her place about five feet off the ground.

She stared up at the darkening sky blankly before her eyes slid to the convenience store across from the park she resided in.

* * *

She placed the decorated bento on Kushina's seat, a note attached apologizing for her lack of manners and a folded, annotated map detailing Konohagakure no Sato's prominent restaurants, facilities and landmarks.

Her heart warmed at the redhead's pinked cheeks full of delighted surprise and she felt a little less like a trespasser trespassing on land that did not belong to her when she noticed a tiny smile on the golden boy's face.

* * *

In August, they started a unit of rudimentary fūinjutsu.

Academy students were required to learn how to properly use storage scrolls, how to properly activate common tags, recreate them using a common sealing design and were shown various displays of what fūinjutsu could do.

Further training in fūinjutsu required application into another course once the rank of genin was reached, where the fundamentals of sealing and the creation of C-rank or lower seals were detailed; it also allowed the use of seals for non-personal use, such as gifts to friends and selling. After passing the exams with a score of seventy or higher, the applicant would receive the title of Sealing Adept.

* * *

Fūinjutsu was an interesting branch of the ninja arts.

The Uzumaki were renowned for their skill in the sealing arts and their specialty seals were always held in lofty regard. Luckily for Konohagakure, the Uzumaki and Senju were close comrades, allowing them access to seals not available to any of the other Elemental Nations in time of need.

Even if one were not Uzumaki, high level specialists were in high demand and could net a nice income for creating complex sealing arrays and sealing bijū, though, the latter was reserved only for the most masterful. Certification for fūinjutsu specialization had a _very_ high standard due to the volatile nature of sealing and the steep consequences of fumbling even the simplest array.

While useful, Mitama couldn't see herself using fūinjutsu as the basis of a ninjutsu style.

She glanced over at the golden boy, diligently memorizing the kanji and esoteric writing for an explosive tag. It was obvious that Minato had taken a liking to the art; the ebony-haired girl couldn't help but notice the way his baby blues lit up at the exciting, flamboyant displays that had been shown in regards to the dynamics of fūinjutsu.

"Hisae-sensei!" The redhead cried as she lifted her hand. She didn't bother to wait for the woman to acknowledge her. "Why don't we learn to make explosive tags the way we do in Uzushio? It's _way_ easier than this crud!"

The sandy-haired teacher sighed, a bored expression marring her tanned features. "First of all: don't speak out of turn. As for your question, we're not using Uzumaki-based arrays because we _aren't_. That satisfy you?"

"But it's simple! All you have to do is—"

"Shut _up_ , Kushina. I _won't_ tell you again."

She smothered the urge to snicker, feeling oddly vindicated that the redhead was admonished. Her head inclined, catching sight of the dejected look on Minato's face.

The feeling of satisfaction left as quickly as it had come.

* * *

Her gaze was blank, fingers digging into the strap of her bag as she watched the Uzushio native's head jerk back in a seemingly unnatural arc. The grip the heckler boy had on her hair looked painful and, judging by the sheen of unshed tears, it most certainly _was_.

She rubbed her scalp absently, remembering the way Murakumo had had her thinner strands in his grubby grip and the agonizingly slow, ripping sensation that had accompanied it.

Mitama knew the pain the redhead was going through. The feeling of isolation and of the cruelty; it had been only recently that Mitama herself had been liberated from it. If given a choice, she would never wish it on another—no matter what the traitorous voices whispered into her head.

She wasn't that type of her person. She was _not_. She may have struggled in helping herself but she was more than capable of assisting another.

She could help Kushina. She should help Kushina. She _would_ help Kushina.

 _They're genin?_ Her eyes cut from the glint of metal, mildly intimidated but the small blossom of courage in her breast won out, spurring from her a hesitant step forth and cold fingers to fold into a hand seal. _Murakumo had to have been around genin-level, right? I beat him, in my own way. If I—If I tried using a genjutsu, maybe I could—_

"Mitama-san."

Her head turned, startled. "M-Minato-san!?"

"You left this at your desk." He held out her manga, smiling as she took it with shaking hands. "The next volume is really good. I have a copy, if you want to borrow it."

"U-uhm, o-okay? I mean, yes! That would be n-nice." The ebony-haired girl nodded, smiling awkwardly, distracted. "I have to, uh, do something…"

Minato hummed, his gaze over her shoulder. "She doesn't need any help."

Her head turned.

"Don't _mess_ with me, 'ttebane!" A battle cry with fury suffusing every syllable rang out, jolting her thin shoulders.

Her eyes widened at the sight.

An evil glint entered Kushina's eyes, causing violet to flicker to a haunting piss yellow. She curled her small fist into a tight, trembling ball and, with a shriek, she slammed it into one genin's face, sending him to the ground like a sack of stone. His partner squeaked, caught off guard by the display and, in his stunned surprise, he neglected to dodge the lunge the redhead made for him.

With strength uncanny for her age and stature, she picked him, slammed his body down in what appeared to be a wrestling maneuver and, with no moment for rest, Kushina proceeded to rain a flurry of punches down onto her helpless victims.

" _I'll show you not to mess with Kushina Uzumaki, 'ttebane!_ "

"See? She didn't need it." The golden boy said from beside her, eyes trained on the sight.

Mitama didn't respond, heart stopping at the flailing red tails of hair.

* * *

 _("…!? The emergency siren!? W-Wha—!?"_

" _What_ is _that thing...!?"_

"… _Oh gods no…")_

* * *

Summer vacation came.

She kept herself occupied with building her chakra reserves and chakra control. When not working on physical training, she checked out several tomes detailing the workings of the central nervous system, toxicology, neurology and anatomy. For relaxation and as utility, publications on herbs, flowers and venomous creatures were her selections.

The need for knowledge and the need to ignite the kindling fragments of her memory was almost insatiable for Mitama.

It was as if she had something to prove. To whom, Mitama wasn't sure.

* * *

 _("All that hard work and they fail me!? No strengths, no team synergy!? The nerve of him! I'm not fit to be a shinobi, he says! How is it my fault they put me on the wrong squad!? I know one thing: I'm not going back to the Academy! Not again!_ That's _for damn sure!"_ _)_

* * *

It was all about getting the feel for it, Mitama knew. It was exactly how she had taken to using chakra that first time years ago in her second year classroom.

Her breathing was slow and her hands, still. The fish flopped weakly, beady eye staring up at her pleadingly as its tiny chest expanded, contracted with each large gulp of air. She smiled repentantly, whispering a weak apology to the carp and to the heavens for potentially slaughtering another innocent creature in the pursuit of selfishness.

She was hesitant to call it a necessary sacrifice for fear of sounding too callous but… What else could she do?

Medical ninjutsu was a delicate, intricate process that required the utmost concentration, chakra control and an understanding of Yin- and Yang-based chakra.

Yin and Yang were chakra natures, similar to that of the elements. Through the manipulation of the two, one was able to achieve the usage of non-elemental techniques such as the Academy Four, genjutsu, medical techniques and the Ino-Shika-Chō hiden techniques through varying, specific balances.

However, without either, one could have neither. Yang was the reality and Yin was the essence; both were required for the form. Even if a technique was comprised predominately of Yin, there would always be a speck of Yang to stabilize it. On the reverse, Yin would do the same for a predominantly Yang technique.

Healing ninjutsu was tricky. One would initially believe medical ninjutsu was comprised mostly of Yang. In reality, it was _both_. Some people were more inclined towards using Yang chakra to heal, while others were inclined to use Yin. It was rare but there were even some that could use both equally, making their healing more potent; it was similar in manner to an advanced nature transformation kekkei genkai.

At its base, medical ninjutsu used chakra to accelerate the body's natural healing process of a wound. Such an acceleration was done in one of three ways: a) using Yin chakra, a medic stimulated the Yang chakra in an area to heal, forcing the area to stabilize due to the imbalance presented; b) Yang chakra was used, increasing the amount of Yang already present and increasing the speed of the healing; or c) a medic used both Yin and Yang, accelerating the process completely past normal standard due to the previous reasons.

In addition, one had to essentially manipulate the chakra to put things back in their place, similar to setting a broken bone manually. It required a vast understanding of the human structure and its inner workings; the reason why a person striving to pursue a medical career required years upon years of study and experience.

Mitama licked her lip, eyes fastened on her slimy patient.

Fish used diffusion to get dissolved oxygen from surrounding molecules of water. They sucked in water through their mouths and expelled it through the gills, taking the oxygen needed and discarding waste carbon dioxide. When taken out of water, a fish suffocated due to their gills collapsing without water supporting their weight. In response, there was a lack of surface area left exposed for the gas exchange and, for most fish, oxygen deficiency caught up to them rapidly, leading to asphyxiation.

The basic goal of the fish exercise was to keep a fish alive for at least three minutes out of water. The first and easiest solution would be to toss them back into water, however, that defeated the purpose of the exercise.

Instead, a medic-nin-in-training would use one of the previously-mentioned methods and coax the fish's Yang chakra to fortify the flimsy, tissue paper-like gills and allow for proper diffusion. Water could be used to aid the process but, again, defeated the purpose, though, it counted as another control exercise.

She let out a quivering sigh, blinking away the stinging sweat dripping into her eyes. She could feel her chakra reserves reaching their empty mark. Expected as she had been going since late morning. She tried keeping the emission of chakra as low, thin and spread out as possible to conserve her stamina but there was only so much training an eight year old could do.

The carp flailed its tail weakly, as if waving a white flag, begging for her to release it.

"C'mon, don' die on me now." She murmured, eyebrows knitting as she glanced over at the alarm clock she'd set. "We're almost there. Don' ya worry…"

 _Five. Four. Three. Two and…_

She quickly cut off emission as the sharp ringing sounded, picked up the fish and gently tossed it back into its home. It floated there, moving its tail feebly, attempting to swim away from the pond's edges. It ceased after a few seconds, slowly surfacing with belly upturned.

Mitama felt tears prick at the corner of her eyes at her tenth failure. After a small moment of mourning, she sighed as she fished out the deceased creature and laid it out on a disposable tarp. She thought about taking it home to eat but she decided against it; it wasn't necessity to eat the fish as it had been once before in the wilds of Fire Country. Playing with its life and then having the nerve to consume it and its brethren—it was too disrespectful and cruel.

She also hadn't brought a means to preserve the fish long enough to bring back to her house. So there was that as well.

" _So_ close…" She whispered, digging yet another grave for one of the finned patients she had failed over the course of the day. "'m so sorry, Fish-san…"

The feeling of accomplishment was there, _right_ within her grasp, but, once again, her fingers merely brushed its edges.

"That was a good try." A lingering spike of heat approached, voice whimsical.

She tilted her head back, squinting at the sharp glare of the person's circular lens. Their head shifted and Mitama could discern their appearance a bit easier. Emerald green eyes glittered along with the benevolent smile on her face, her brown hair, so close to blonde shifted as she squatted down next to the ebony-haired girl. Her headband glinted in the folds of her shirt, ranking her as an official kunoichi of Konohagakure.

Mitama remembered her from the hospital. Nonō, they had called her.

Her eyes fell back to the shallow grave. " _Good_ isn't enough when it comes to medical ninjutsu."

"And that is why you must practice. You can't let these poor fish die in vain, right?" The older girl chuckled, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Here. Would you like me to show you a trick or two?"

Her high, tinkling laughter brought a shy smile to Mitama's pallid face.

* * *

She spent the rest of her day with Nonō-senpai, watching with rapt attention as the kunoichi healed with what seemed like only a touch.

* * *

"This is the last time that I will be inspecting this apartment." Ayako said, seating herself on the quilt-covered bed with crossed legs. "I'm impressed that you actually managed to enter your final year of Academy with no academic or domestic troubles."

The sable-eyed girl let her lips twitch into a smile, ashamed that she thought so much of the blonde chūnin's approval. "Thank you, Ayako-san."

The person she truly wished to hear from had all but disappeared from her life since the day of her admission to official training. Her fingers fisted into the fabric of her skirt as she thought of dark, gentle eyes and spiked silver hair.

Her lips were dry as she asked, "Ayako-san? H-have you seen Sakumo-san lately? Is he doing well?"

"He has been on down time for about a week now." Turquoise eyes narrowed before widening, her rose-colored lips forming a cruel smirk. "Ah, I _see_. You thought Sakumo actually cared about you."

Her shoulders stiffened and her mouth set into a firm line as tears pricked at the backs of her eyes.

"I suppose you can't be faulted—Sakumo has that effect on people. He is much too _kind_ and _merciful_ for such a talented, handsome man." The words sounded distinctly like insults coming from Ayako. "Then again, it should have been obvious. Why, I saw him relatively recently and he had not bothered to mention you. Has he ever even called you by your name, I wonder?"

She remained stubbornly silent as the Yamanaka chūnin incited further ignominy and anger—at both herself and the man she so foolishly called her hero and savior.

"He calls you _little one_ , I am sure. He does that to _all_ children, silly girl. Nothing more than an excuse to keep from calling your name and tarnishing that benevolent façade he is so loved for by not remembering it."

Mitama rose from her seat, padded over to her door and pulled it open. Ayako laughed, pushing up from her seat as well and sauntering to the young girl with nothing less than amusement coloring her countenance.

"Kicking me out, are you?" She giggled, leaning against the door. "The truth is too much for you?"

"Please leave." Her voice trembled and she screamed at herself for being so damn polite.

"You realize he has his own family, yes? You are negligible in comparison." The chūnin smiled, using a thumb to wipe away the blood that welled on the broken skin of her lip.

Mitama's mouth curled into revulsion as the blonde licked away the coppery liquid from her finger. Ayako smiled a wider, almost unearthly smile that brandished teeth much too white.

"Please leave." She repeated.

"A word of advice, child: shinobi are not altruistic. Not even _Sakumo Hatake_." She mocked, flicking hair over her shoulder. "Even if you are but a child, we _will_ exploit you if you can serve a purpose. If you survive long enough, you will see and you will do the same as we have done for decades. We are deceivers."

"Leave. _Please_." Her nails dug into the door's frame.

"But, what we lack in mercy, we make up for in perseverance. We _endure_." The blonde chūnin cupped her pale cheek tenderly, tucking a lock of inky hair behind her ear. "You have performed well thus far, Mitama. Do not prove me right by giving up before the storm has even reached the horizon."

She left without another word, leaving only the sharp echoing of clicking heels.

The ebony-haired girl closed her door, releasing a shuddering breath as she rubbed her eyes with her sleeve. She tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling blankly and licking away the blood that stained her lip.

Unsurprisingly, she cried like the piteous little child she was.

* * *

Summer vacation went.

Mitama bought a new pot of flowers, red spider lilies. She bought a new quilt, folding and storing the other away.

* * *

After summer vacation and through September, October and November, tactical maneuvers for four-man squads were emphasized as the remaining students would inevitably be sorted into such groups. A refresher course for wilderness survival on their home turf of thick woodland was included; they were Leaf shinobi and were expected to survive and thrive beneath the leaves of the Land of Fire.

Excursions into the various training grounds became a common event and, while Mitama could easily deal with the survival aspect, she wasn't very fond of the competitive, combat aspect that accompanied them more often than not.

* * *

There was a sense of déjà vu clinging to the situation as she pressed herself up against the hard bark of her hiding place. She ignored it in favor of focusing on the approaching sources of heat, hands forming the sensing seal once they were within range of her perception field, which was a paltry three meters.

It served its purpose, allowing her to identify them to be a team of three from her own class. She recognized them all but could only put a name to one. Her heart seized and she frowned, regretfully.

She breathed in softly before she jumped from her perch, stumbling on her landing and fumbling the item clutched in her hand, a scroll marked with the kanji for earth. Without a glance, she scooped up her treasure and tucked it into her obi before breaking out into a sprint. There were a few noises of startle but, otherwise, no words were exchanged as the opposing team followed her, intent on claiming the goal scroll.

Her legs and lungs ached as she ran but she managed to keep her mind focused on examining her surroundings and counting down from ten, biting her lip to force herself to remain calm as the team gradually closed in. She grit her teeth as she focused on a spike of heat hiding around a bend and, as she ducked beneath a branch, she grabbed onto a hanging vine just in reach, using the momentum from her run to swing across to her destination perch.

Her job was done.

"Shadow Possession complete."

She hopped down, landing steadily unlike previously before she trailed up to the captured squad. The ebony-haired girl offered them an apologetic smile as the Nara felt around for the scroll. A frown marred her features as Nawaki emerged from his hiding spot, a pout puffing out his rosy cheeks; she knew the look to be an adorable prelude to his tiresome griping.

"How come I had to sit this one out?" He complained, padding over to her side.

"Because she was better bait." Shikaku drawled, tossing the scroll.

She sent him a glare but remained silent, catching the scroll and examining it. She nodded once she saw that it was marked with the kanji for water, exactly what they were searching for.

"We shouldn't be using teammates as bait. It's not right." He eyed the captured team through a squinted gaze. "Besides, I'm sure we could've taken them no problem."

"What did you say, 'ttebane!?" Kushina, one of the captured, yelled, obviously angered at having their scroll taken, being apprehended and having her strength insulted. "I'd totally send you packing, buddy!"

"What? I'm the grandson of the First, you know! That title isn't just for show!"

"You could be his butt crack and I wouldn't care! No one doubts my strength like that and gets away with—HEY! AHH!"

Mitama smiled lightly as she looked up at the suspended group. "I'm sorry, Kushina-san but we have to make sure you don't chase after us. The net shouldn't be too hard to get through."

The self-satisfaction was strong as her team retreated with their objective completed and a fuming redhead in their wake.

* * *

In December, the boys and girls were separated for their next months of training.

They referred to it as Infiltration and Cover—or I&C for short—and it was the second of the two Infiltration specializations. Unlike Stealth and Infiltration, which focused on stealth and usage of chakra to obscure detection, I&C generally required none.

Instead, it focused on slipping into facilities through disguise and manipulation. They were to appear as one of the common passerby, going about their day without garnering a second glance from anyone. It required shinobi to momentarily forget all the ingrained tendencies and teachings; chakra was not be used under any circumstance barring emergency or completion of objectives. They had to learn to labor without the miraculous advantage chakra imbued upon them and, because of that element, Infiltration and Cover was considered the more difficult of the two specializations.

She couldn't help but giggle.

The fact that simple tasks such as painting a fence, climbing a ladder and pulling weeds was considered _difficult_ was nothing short of hilarity.

* * *

"Water is soft, fluid and yielding." The instructor said softly, long fingers deftly pulling hair into an immaculate bun held secure with intricate _kanzashi_. "However, water will wear away rigid, unyielding rock. That which is fluid, soft and yielding will overcome that which is rigid and hard. Water is soft—but it is also strong. A woman should be like water."

A kunoichi was trained to be as water.

They were to appear soft and harmless, traits that belied the steely, resistant nature that delved beneath their surface. They were to surreptitiously seep within the cracks, uprooting and weathering away any obstacle that had been placed before them. They were to coax and prod, manipulate without the need for messy bloodshed.

They learned the proper way to perform tea ceremonies. They learned to apply makeup and how to take care of their hair and skin. They dressed in elegant, elaborate kimono and learned of proper grace and etiquette. They learned of _ikebana_ and hanakotoba, sending secret messages and warnings through beautiful, artistic flower arrangements. They learned herbalism and the beginnings of poisoning, coating sharp kanzashi and hidden daggers alike. They sung until their throats were sore, raw and danced traditional dances until their feet bled. They learned to play instruments, fingers strumming and beating until they were cramped and stiff. They learned calligraphy, literature and poetry. They learned of seduction, coquettishly batting their eyelashes, pinking their cheeks on cue and hissing insidious lies into the ears of all who listened. They learned to take of themselves, their bodies.

They learned to be cultured, beautiful women.

All for the purpose of furthering their potential as kunoichi.

* * *

Mitama liked kunoichi classes.

They allowed her to indulge in activities she previously did not have the time, money or access to.

She brushed back her hair, careful not to disturb the plum blossom kanzashi used to secure a bit of hair behind her ear. Her makeup was minimal; she hadn't even donned her concealer makeup for a change. According to her instructor, too much concealer was detrimental to her eyesight and the prim woman had given her many, _many_ tips to lighten the dark bruises and bags under her eyes.

"Five minutes, ladies!"

"Yes, Maiko-sensei!"

She checked over her appearance once more in her mirror, standing to her feet to collect a parasol and gather with the other congregating kunoichi-in-training.

During her journey, she paused.

The redhead was struggling, terribly so. She looked barely put together; her obi laid out next to her haphazardly, her kimono hanging off one shoulder and wrestling with her thick mane of hair with a simple brush. Mitama frowned, feeling sympathetic—Kushina did have a _lot_ of hair—but the look of agitation on the redhead's face had the corners of her lips threatening to upturn into a smirk.

 _You're not like that._ She admonished herself, fingers gripping the edge of her hanging sleeves. _Go help her. Now._

She took in a steadying breath, padding over to the Uzumaki.

Her voice was light as she stood over her shoulder, a patient smile on her face. "Do… Do you want me to help, Kushina-san?"

The girl jolted, letting go of the brush in her hand. Mitama covered her mouth with a sleeve, hiding her laugh at the sight of the poor brush suspended in a fuzzy tangle of red. Kushina's face scrunched, her eyes filling with tears, her chubby cheeks reddening and her lips balling up in despair.

She looked so childish and sad—Mitama couldn't help but feel sorry for her.

"I can't get it _right_ , 'ttebane!"

"Please don't cry, Kushina-san. It isn't that hard. I'll show you." She kneeled, carefully unraveling the beauty implement from the mass of hair and proceeding to style it with quick, deft hands.

"I hate this stupid hair. It does nothing but cause me trouble." The redhead grumbled, sulking as the ebony-haired girl pinned up another tail of red.

"I think Kushina-san's hair is _beautiful_." There was a hint of bitterness that neither she nor the Uzumaki noticed.

She jolted, eyes widening comically. "Really!? Don't lie to me, 'ttebane!"

"I'm not. Kushina-san has long, soft and striking hair." Her lips curled kindly. "And the color... Red is the color of passion and of strength. It suits you very well."

 _My hair is nothing in comparison._ Her eyes narrowed. _Thin, short and black. Black is nothing. It is the absence of color, of life_. _B_ _lack is death._

"T-thank you… Mitama." Her cheeks pinked, her grin, bashful and her eyelashes fluttering.

She fought the scowl that threatened to overtake her face. They were not of the closeness that allowed Kushina to refer to her with such casualty. However, she did not comment on it.

She merely nodded, continuing to assist the girl.

After a few short moments of fidgeting and glancing at Mitama through the mirror's reflection, she spoke through trembling lips. "Say, Mitama… Uhm, d-do you wanna go to the upcoming festival with me?"

She blinked slowly before her lips morphed into a soft smile. "If you want."

She frowned when Kushina went to retrieve her parasol.

* * *

 _Setsubun_ , the day before the beginning of spring.

A local temple sponsored a festival with permission from the Hokage, allowing the denizens of Konohagakure no Sato to enjoy the festivities they had provided.

Setsubun was a day often thought of as New Year's Eve due to its connection to the Lunar New Year. As such, it was accompanied by a special ritual meant to cleanse away the evil of the former year and drive away _obake_ , disease-bringing evil spirits for the year to come.

She and Kushina had performed the custom of _mamemaki_ , putting on oni masks and taking turns throwing roasted soybeans at each other while screaming _"Demons out! Luck in!"_ before slamming the front door. It was typically performed by the male head of the household, however, neither Kushina nor Mitama had such a being present. They had improvised and Mitama would be lying if she had said that she didn't have fun with the Whirlpool native.

Afterwards, they proceeded to eat roasted soybeans, one for each year of their life to bring luck. For the oddest reason, Mitama had the urge to eat at least twenty four of them.

She managed to curb the feeling when Kushina pointed out a video arcade and begged for some ryō to play. She promptly spent it all on playing _Sac-Man_ , _Toader_ and _Unknown Headquarters_ —the latter of which Mitama played as well as it was a two-player game. During the video game marathon, the redhead thought it wise to consume large quantities of water, thinking it would somehow improve her concentration. Instead, it filled her bladder to the brim, causing her to flee unannounced to a restroom in an adjacent restaurant.

"Mitama-san?"

She turned her head, stopping in her act of stuffing her face with an _ehō-maki_ , a large sushi with three or more fillings based on complementary tastes and colors. "Muh?"

The golden boy smiled kindly as he approached, flanked by a taller brunette man. Despite the different colorings, the similarity between them left no doubt of their relationship.

Awkwardly, she chewed, eyes wide as they darted back and forth between the boy and his companion—it should have been expected that she would meet him with her mouth stuffed like some sort of glutton.

"I didn't expect to see you out here." He looked up at the man. "Papa, this is a classmate of mine. Mitama-san, this is my Papa."

The elder Namikaze's brown eyes glimmered with recognition despite them never personally meeting. "Ah, _Mitama-san_. It's a pleasure to meet you." He directed her with a smile that stretched his laugh lines as he inclined his head congenially. "I am Kaito Namikaze. I hope that my son hasn't caused you any trouble."

She gulped. _Hard_. The sable-eyed girl grimaced, hiding it with her deep bow. "N-no, not at all, Kaito-san! Minato-san is very nice to me—he even let me borrow his manga!"

" _You_? Lending out your precious _BoBo's Strange Journey_ , Minato?" A chuckle rumbled in his chest as he planted a hand in his son's spiky hair. "I'm surprised."

"Papa, stop it." He batted away the man's larger hand, a smile threatening to upturn the corners of his lips.

The sight warmed her heart—the loving, familial scene was too fuzzy not to coo at. It hurt as well—Mitama would never experience such tenderness with her own parents. The notion dug a bit deeper when she remembered that her father and mother had never been that affection in the first place. Her fingers clutched the fabric over her heart, wanting nothing more than to cease the desolation that rooted into her being.

"Mitama-san? Are you here with someone?"

"I—"

"Yeesh, Mitama! It came out like a waterfall, 'ttebane!" Kushina snorted, trailing up to her. "You were totally right! I really shouldn't have drank all that water!"

She wanted to simultaneously laugh, smack her forehead and melt into the ground.

* * *

"Hey, hey! Are you gonna write a letter to your folks?"

"No. They aren't... _here..._ anymore."

"O-oh, I'm sorry." A pause. "Do you… Do you wanna write a letter to _my_ folks then?"

"Why would I want to do _that_?"

"S-so, you don't feel so alone…? Maybe?"

"I—"

"No, no! It was a stupid idea! Never mind! Hey, hey! Teach me how to make that tasty stuff you packed for me that one time!"

* * *

She wanted to like Kushina. She wanted to dislike Kushina. Her heart tugged left. Her mind tugged right.

It hurt.

She didn't understand why.

* * *

 _("There is…_ no one _I want to be with more than you.")_

* * *

On March 10, 267, the Second Shinobi War raged on. The First Hokage's granddaughter, Tsunade, succeeded in countering each and every poison created by Chiyo of Sunagakure no Sato.

On March 10, 267, the Land of Whirlpools was obliterated by a currently unknown force, taking with it the Uzumaki and all clans that resided therein. There was a village-wide moment of silence held in mourning.

On March 10, 267, Mitama turned nine.

She blew out the lone candle on her tiny cake, swathing her apartment in darkness.

She stared at Kushina's tear-streaked face, illuminated by moonlight, and gently tucked her in without a peep.

* * *

She wanted to apologize to Kushina for not doing anything. About what, she didn't know.

Her heart ached the longer she looked at Kushina Uzumaki.

* * *

 _("Let us have a moment of silence for our fallen brethren...")_

* * *

 **A/N: To start, the idea of specializations and many of the other concepts** **—the equal gender "kunoichi" courses, mainly** **—** **came from an RP website dedicated to** _ **Naruto**_ **. On the subject, I just thought genin have a** _ **bit**_ **of free time to waste outside of the few D-rank and rare C-rank missions they are given, along with the training jōnin teachers hold, where the genin are seemingly given scant material to work with. Throwing a couple specialization courses in the mix shouldn't be that much of a stretch. The spiel on medical ninjutsu and Yin-Yang was gathered from several sources, namely a forum I found when looking on Google.**

 **Kushina is here! I hope the MC's conflicting attitude and feelings towards her was difficult to pin down. As well, I hope Ayako came out as an extra-large douche basket. The comment about Sakumo was more on Ayako than on him (maybe) but, while Sakumo is nice, even** _ **he**_ **doesn't have time for a random kid. Nawaki, Shikaku and Nonō make cameos. Minato has a dad and calls him "Papa." Isn't that adorable?**

 **Side Note 01:** _ **BoBo's Strange Journey: Part II – Combat Propensity**_ **is a blatant parody of** _ **JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Part II – Battle Tendency.**_ **The** _ **Strange Journey**_ **part is also a homage to** _ **Shin Megami Tensei: Strange Journey**_ **.** _ **Sac-Man**_ **,** _ **Toady**_ **and** _ **Unknown Headquarters**_ **are parodies of old arcade games.**

 **Side Note 02: The advancement of technology in the** _ **Naruto**_ **world is hard to pinpoint. With the video arcade, I based it on each IRL decade. I suppose Minato's childhood would be around the mid-to-late 70s and early 80s. Just indulge me, okay?**

 **Side Note 03: The water quote at the start of the kunoichi class section is a quote by Lao-Tzu. It was edited to fit in with the theme.**

 **Side Note 04: Someone asked if MC was an insert of Sakura. She is not. They are not related whatsoever despite unintentional similarities. Someone asked if it was the MC saying the very last line of the previous chapter. Maybe. Maybe not. Someone asked if MC was speaking with a Kansai dialect. It could be? The thing about Japanese dialects are that there are no consistent ways to translate or express them in English. I automatically reverted to stereotypical "country slang." Someone started making ship names. I quite like Minama. Mitato reminds me of some off-shoot cousins to potatoes.**

 **I believe that is all. Please forgive me if I don't respond to reviews. It doesn't mean I don't read them or don't appreciate them. On the contrary, I read them multiple times like some weirdo. Thank you** _ **so**_ **much for the support and I hope you are all having a good start to the new year.**


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